


The road to hell and good intentions

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight (2008)
Genre: Abuse, Depression, Kidnapping, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Unrequited Love, dead people everywhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 29,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arkham was never the place Batman thought it was- they change things, people, too. He is not sure if Arkham has changed the Joker- burned him- and Bruce knows not about what happened,<br/>only that he is stuck with the man, for better or worse- attempting to deal with the mess of complicated feelings-</p><p>Until Batman finds out that he is in too deep- that what seemed like a mystery- what they did to the Joker, it was only the start. Gotham City has a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**A/N: In this fic the time is around three years after the events of tdk. I think I’ll work tdkr in there some where. HD’s killings were no longer  blamed on Batman- but on the mob(canon divergence)**

The road to hell and good intentions-

 

Prologue

Sane, sad and broken is what he thought when Bruce looked at the Joker- No, Jack now. He expected him to at least a little bit surprised when he gets him out of the dingy apartment Arkham gave him. But there was nothing. Not even a smile, or even some acknowledgment. No, just nothing.

\-----

When he told the Joker that it would all be over if he does not reform himself, Batman regretted it slightly. What if the Joker never did? Would they just ignore the feelings, the years of fighting and flying and- He saw that they took his scars away, and it took all of Bruce’s control not to release his rage onto the smiling woman in the smart suit giving Bruce fucking Wayne a tour in Arkham and show him all the reformed patients.

And now the man sits at the penthouse, dirty green hair now a clean honey blond and eyes that were once so bright dull with a promise. A promise to Bruce.

And he never mentioned why. Not once. He followed Bruce to the penthouse with no words like a man with no leads. Confused. No clue about who he is and what to do. All he does is stare out of the window. Today he is overlooking the cityscape as well, a small breeze running through his hair and the golden sunlight shining through the fine golden strands. The Joker-Jack looks like a stranded angel.

“Jack...” Bruce whispers as he walks up to the man, who looks at him but never really looks.

“Yes?” Jack replies, turning back to the large panel. His voice is soft, barely able to be heard. He never eats much, picking at the food for hours at a time-it breaks Bruce’s heart to see the man who had so much life and energy float around like a gaunt skeleton-

Batman wonders if he did the wrong thing, agreeing for Arkham to test their new, and obviously inhumane treatment on him.

It ‘worked’ of course and ‘Jack’ has a new identity as well, but Bruce could have maybe helped him on his own, if he has just tried. His cowardly behaviour destroyed the both of them. When Batman is out on patrol at night his mind wonders to the Joker(he still thinks of him as the Joker) and whether he is staring out of the window at the night life. Joker, no-he is Jack now taps his fingers against the window sill as he waits. Sometimes he goes to sleep before Batman comes back, sometimes he does not.

Arkham destroyed him, of course. It took every inch of life and soul he has and crushed it. Now he has no energy to do anything. Not even revenge. He wants it. Wants for the city to burn. He tries to reach for the cold flame of hatred that cumulated in him- hatred against Arkham and Gotham and Batman. There is just no feeling it.


	2. Window to the soul

Ch1

 

“Were you waiting for me? Jo-Jack” Bruce attempts to make small talk with the Joker(he no longer tries to correct himself after the first month) He did not answer. Instead, Joker traces his fingers on the glass, writing onto the glass. and the Joker quickly wipes it.

“I guess.” Jack-Joker- said. Bruce gapes, then nods. He sits down next to the former criminal, and the man paid him no heed. As if Bruce does not exist. It hurts. Bruce has no ideas why it hurts. Is it maybe seeing his arch nemesis a shadow of his former self that disturbs him or is it the complicated mess of feelings he held for the mad clown? Before Bruce went to see the Joker, perfectly ‘ _sane_ ’ as the doctor described, he thought that once the Joker is reformed, that maybe he could- He did not count on how broken the man is, how utterly tired and blank the hospital-prison made him. So Bruce held all the feelings he has in check.

“Are you...?” Bruce holds his tongue when Joker glanced at him then turned back, still not talking. Gotham glittered in a Friday night, with the glitz and glamour of parties and the dirtier dealings that occur in those parties.

“I’m not okay.” He said, and Bruce did not dare say a word, holding his breath. It’s the most he has said to him since the first day Bruce brought him back, one month and three days ago. Bruce keeps count. “I’m not okay.”

The Joker-Jack whispers, not to the Bat and not to Gotham or his doctors, but to himself. Joker is not ‘cured’ as they would think, no. He wants everything to burn. He wants to tear open the doctor’s chests and rip their beating hearts out. He wants to see the look of horror on Batman’s face.

He wants to just laugh. He is too tired to laugh. There is no motivation, no energy at all, even when faced with things he wanted to do. He wants to just- disappear. Not be in this city, on this earth anymore- And he doesn’t even know what Arkham did to him to make him feel this way. The memories are fuzzy and Ja-Joker’d rather not know what happened. Is he still so hung up over losing his name?

\---------------------------

They sat in silence.

“I’ll, just, uh...” Bruce tries to talk. It is not so easy when he feels like he is treading on glass every single minute he spends with the Joker. The former clown is too sad. Too normal. Bruce regrets sending him to Arkham. “Go to bed?” He asks. It is three in the morning. Did Joker stay up to wait for him, or is he just there? Jack-Joker follows him to his room, silent the entire way. He went into Bruce’s room when Bruce thought he would leave for his own.

“Uh....Jack?” His mouth ran dry when he sees the Joker lie down on the bed, and turning away to face the window.

“Your room has the best view.” He admits quietly, and Bruce lets out a sigh of relief in his mind while his chest tightens at the fact that he is only here for staring out of the window at three am. It was hard to sleep, when as soon as Bruce turns around he sees the Joker’s golden hair, now grown back longer and usually tied into a low ponytail spill onto the pillow, or his smooth face, devoid of the scars that made him, leaving only two slightly lighter trails in their place.

When Joker’s breath becomes steady, Bruce still cannot slip into restful sleep. He feels the blood flowing in his veins and the warmth creeping up his cheeks. The mess that is his thoughts and feelings on the Joker becomes messier. In Bruce’s mind, somehow their heartbeat becomes one(but it was only in his mind) He falls asleep, and dreams that the golden haired figure, scars and all, smiles at him.


	3. 2. Blank screams

Ch2:

When Alfred walks into the room and sees the two men tangled up together in the sheets, he did not wake them  up.

With the amount of times he has seen Bruce with supermodels and famous actresses, he could tell that nothing has happened.

Truth be told, Alfred did not like it when the mass-murdering clown was brough back by Bruce. 

But it surprised him, how sad and silent the Joker seems. The man drifts around the penthouse, like a ghost. He  stared out of the  window as if longing to jump out of it.

It made Alfred uncomfortable.

* * *

 

 

The Joker did not say anything to him, except for muttering a soft ‘no’ whenever Alfred offers him anything.

Every single day of the past month or so, Alfred sees the man either sleeping on the couch or the floor. Not a  single morsel of food  passed his  lips, as far as the butler could see.

Perhaps this is for the best. Alfred thought. He observes the look on Bruce’s face and he thinks he knows what the emotions are, but he’d  rather not think too deep on this subject.

Because he would think back and remember Bruce telling him about how he has agreed for Arkham to experiment a new kind of  therapy on the Joker, that might make him sane.

Seeing the Joker-he is called Jack now, Bruce says, Alfred doubts that this treatment really works. For he may despise the Joker and what he has done, what  happened to him must be so horrifying that a war-hardened soldier would refuse to look.

 

Alfred has seen what happens, when you bend someone apart so much that they break. He has done it before,  during training and  interrogation and whatever else in his army days.

 

He has seen men become shells of themselves, slipping away so far that when the people around them notice they were already too  far gone-

 Alfred did not ever want to see something like that again. And yet it is happening again, right before his eyes to  someone he hated  and he  cannot stand it.

He still holds the Joker in contempt. Alfred opts to stay as far away from the man as possible.

He closed the door. It’s best to let them rest.

* * *

 

 

Bruce opens his eyes, trying to keep them that way after a night of fitful sleep. Today there were yet another round of meetings with the board of ‘boring old men’ as he dubbed it.

 

He stumbled and jumped off the bed after seeing the bright sea-green eyes staring at him. Or rather, through him. 

“H-heh- good morning.” Bruce said quickly before pulling a shirt on, his face furiously red. Why the hell did he sleep shirtless with someone else in  the bed that is not for the sake of his reputation?

“Mmhm.” The Joker replies and turns around, facing the wall. “Jack?” Bruce inquires, still embarrassed. 

“...sleeping.” He replies and Bruce leaves, only to run back and see for himself. The clown has rolled onto the floor and built himself  a nest out of blankets and pillows. Bruce went out, not wanting to disturb the sleeping man.

 

 

Shoveling down his breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, tomatoes and coffee, Bruce hurries to get cleaned up and  dressed. It concerns him a little, how the Joker seems to shut himself in a room, any room for around the whole day and not  coming out until it was in the early  afternoon.

 

Bruce took the man in and he feels responsible for him, no matter what. 

He hated the Joker, sure, but he cannot stand the way he stares at him or at the window, eyes so blank with not a single spark of life in them. 

“Alfred?” Bruce asks, before heading out to a meeting that he would most likely sleep through.

“Yes, Mister Wayne?” The butler says pleasantly as he went to clean off the plates and mugs.

 

“Can you-can you tell me when he wakes up?” There is no need to say who ‘he’ is.

 

 

Alfred recalled that by the time the Joker did step out of Bruce’s room it was already noon. The criminal-ex criminal washes up and stumbles into the large, spacious lounge and plops down on a chair by the window.

 

“Want anything to drink? To eat?” Alfred would not usually approach the man, preferring to let him sleep through  the day and stay as far away  as possible.

The Joker could tell the butler’s disdain. He did not care for the faux concern. It’s all fake.

“Why do you ask?” He inquires, words barely a whisper these days.

“I am not one to let anyone starve, lad. Don’t think that I do not dislike you.”

 

“Good.” The Joker spits curtly, the words meant to be poisonous, but coming out as weak and tired.

Alfred has starved before, forced into underground prison camps with the worst possible conditions man could  imagine, and then  some more.

If it were not for the Wayne’s, he would have ended up angry. Bitter at the world for not answering his questions  or for letting this  happen. He has been there, and managed to get out. Others were not so lucky.

 

As much as he disliked it so, he sympathizes with the Joker. Because he has been there.

What a stupid answer, the Joker thought. There is no need for anyone to hide their obvious disgust for him. Hell, he’d welcome  anything apart  from the fake smiles and concerns. Bleh. 

 

He has no energy to argue. Even if he had the energy, which he rarely does, he has no motivation. He accepted the water and the  stuffed, fancy french bread. Taking a bite, the food had no effect on him. 

The Joker barely eats. At Arkham they has to force him. All food tastes like ashes to him. It’s painful to chew and  swallow. Even the  tiny motion of putting food in his mouth hurts in his mind.

When he tries to think on it his head hurts. Jok-Jack ignores it. He only eats when it is absolutely necessary. Even the pain of hunger is better than the pain and terror-it’s not terror, he is not scared off anything he says-

 

He swallows the food with water. It lessons the throbbing.

 

Leaving what he cannot finish in the ultra-modern and clean kitchen, Jack stumbles to the couch, trying not to throw up. Sleeping has been what he is doing the most  lately.

 

Seeing the Joker drop onto the couch and barely finishing the bread, looking like he is about to die, Alfred made  a note to tell Bruce, and stay  as much out of this as possible.

Despite the large amount of sleeping the clown has been doing, he seems to still have dark rings of black  surrounding his eyes. The signs are  disturbing and he couldn’t help but notice them.

* * *

 

Bruce spent the entire meeting thinking about what is happening. What is wrong with the Joker?

He feels responsible for the man. And there is also the nagging curiosity of wanting to know what happened to  him.

Then he drives away from the building to Rachel’s grave. For once he is without words to say.

 

“I’m sorry- it-it’s just I had to. Help him. And I couldn’t help what I feel, I suppose.”

It’s time to let it go, his mind says. Truth be told, when she was alive Bruce viewed Rachel not as someone he  loved but as an  example of what could have happened if he was normal.

 

He saw her as something unattainable, like a beacon of morality instead of a human, his friend.

“I’m sorry about thinking like that. It was disrespectful.”

Whatever has happened has happened. There would always be a knot in his heart, but he is acknowledging it now. It would be hard,  to face either the graves of Rachel or Harvey or his parents like this, but he would try.

For himself, at least.

 

\----------------

 

The Joker was still sleeping when he is back in the late afternoon, so Bruce left him there.

“Has he...?” He asks Alfred, trying not to talk too loud. “Ah, yes. Our guest has been like that since around two. But he did have lunch.” Bruce  nods, taking a drink out of his glass of water. 

 

Outside the window the sky is turning pink earlier and earlier, gradually seeping into early November. The Joker  would usually be up, staring  out of it like usual by this time.

Bruce ate dinner with Alfred, still feeling strange that this is not one of the many nights where they(he) dragged  the Joker to the table and fed  him something. Anything, really.

The ex-clown prince of crime is still fast asleep when Bruce is changed and the signal is lit up. Gordon must not be able to deal with  whatever mob  fight there is tonight. There seems to be hundreds of those since the Joker left the crime scene.

Moving towards the sleeping man quietly, Bruce felt much more playful than he had been in a long time. A playful grin tugs on his  lips.

He shoves the Joker awake.

 

The resulting scream was not what he has expected.

 


	4. 4. Nightmares

Ch3:

Feeling someone tap him out of his sweet, sweet sleep, the Joker felt something akin to annoyance. Something he was not able to feel for a long time. The he opens his eyes and squints and sees the figure of his nightmares standing by him, impossibly large and imposing and frightening.

For a moment there he could not breath- He is going to die he is going to die-but dying is not something the Joker feared but he is Jack no he is the Joker- There will be pain. The creature moves closer and he feels bile rise up to his throat, clogging it and filling his mouth with bitter fear- His eyes widens, his throat constricts, and panic, raw, bleeding panic courses through his mind and his trachea clears for a second and- He screams, closing his eyes and not expecting anything other than pain and humiliation masqueraded as concern and love. A pair of arms is holding him down and the monster is saying something- mocking, anger-

 

“Joker! Calm down!” Bruce is panicking slightly as well. He did not expect for the Joker-Jack’s reaction to be so vivid, and terrifying. “Jack?” Joker- Jack closes his eyes and tries to breath, chest heaving, and eyes stinging. The Batman had the manners to move out of the way. He sat up, dry heaving, without anything in his stomach to actually throw up. Joker screams again, fighting to push Batman off him-

“Guah-Stop!” Bruce yells, hearing Alfred’s footsteps heading towards them. The Joker thrashed beneath him, eyes wide and panicked , and in the constant movement Bruce was suddenly aware that he was aroused-painfully so. He was glad that the kevlar armour hid it. The Joker continues to kick him, until they both fell off the couch and landed on top of each other.

He stopped screaming. Jack stopped screaming as the air is squashed out of him by two hundred pounds of muscle and kevlar. He heaves, trying to get air into his lungs as Batman attempts to untangle them from each other. He is no longer panicking, though the fear-Jack’s fear, he reminded himself, is still very real.

“What is going on here!?” Alfred shouts as he strides into the lounge. For one minute there he thought that the Joker has finally snapped and they were fighting, but from his knowledge Bruce never screamed.

“What-” His eyes widens in shock as Bruce stops momentarily from attempting to get himself off the floor. The Bat signal flashed out of the window.

“I- I’ll leave you two to it.” Alfred walks away, planning on speaking to Bruce later. He would try and not believe anything bad against Bruce, but the screams sends chills down his spine.

\-----------

Bruce finally untangles himself and struggles off the floor, the Joker staring at him with wide eyes, both of them breathing hard. Before he could say anything, the Joker pushes himself up with shaking hands. And runs to the bathroom down the hall, slamming and locking the door along the way.

Bruce holds his hand out to the air in front to him, then brought it to his forehead. This would be hell to explain. He heads out, not being able to waste any time. Batman thought about all the reasons why the Joker screamed like that, like he was terrified of Bruce. No, he was never even remotely scared of Bruce. He was terrified of Batman. And Batman has no idea as to why.

All he knows is that he never wants to hear that scream again. It rattles through his mind, ringing like a horrid bell that shatters what little concept he has of what happened to the Joker in Arkham. Why is he so frightened by the suit, and yet not him? A flashback-but of what?

 

“What is it?” Batman asks Gordon. The commissioner sighs and throws his hands above his head.

“Nothing. There was nothing! Some person broke out of Arkham and into the police station, wanting to see you.”

“Who?” Bruce asks, taken aback.

“She threatened to release a poisonous gas into Arkham if you-” Batman is Already taking large strides into the interrogation room.

“What do you want?” He demands from the red-headed woman who sits, back facing him and completely unfrightened by the Batman. She is still wearing an orange jumpsuit.

“Someone has a message for you.” She replies eerily. Calm, without a hint of emotion apart from boredom in her voice. Batman is not used to being ignored by criminals. “Hear the people of Arkham sing, I'm doing this for a friend-she wrote it-” She continues in a monotone, as if completely bored of this. “Jack falls, Jack slips around, Jack goes up a beanstalk, And he never came back down.” She turns to look at him, a small, but still noticeable smirk played on her mouth. "She wrote it from the rumours."

“And we all ask ourselves What happened to Jack? Did Arkham take him, Claim him, And break him like they did to us? We want to know- What happened to Jack?” She finishes. The silence stretches out and Bruce can feel his mind buzz and his heart pound in his kevlar chest.

“What happened to Jack?”

“What do you-” He asks, his voice raspier than he thought it would be.

“Arkham thinks that we don’t hear. Forgets that we are human.” The woman answers, turning to face him. Her eyes are a dark green, contrasting with the red hair and pale skin.

“What does that have to do with-” Batman inquires, almost desperately. He has been itching to find out what happened to the Joker, and an answer is almost immediately placed in front of him- it makes him suspicious. “We are declared insane, batman, but we have ears. And the doctors talk. The orderlies and the nurses talk. Arkham talks, and we hear.” Everything talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG Bruce wat
> 
> What am Idoing


	5. 5. Sleep through my troubles

Ch4:

“You hear  _what_?!” Batman presses, moving to the front of the female patient and slamming his right hand onto the desk, causing it to jump a  little.

“No one knows who Jack is, but I have an _idea_.” She mock- _whispers_ , raising an eyebrow and leaning closer. 

“If you want to, we can have a truce.”

“Truce?” Batman growls, also leaning closer. Threatening. He does not create truces with his enemies, even if the information she could supply  is incredibly intriguing.

“What about your threat? Of gassing Arkham-”

“I would tell my friend to not do it.” She smirks, licking her lips. A natural seductress.

“Good.” Batman hates to admit it, but he wants to know what happened to his ex-arch nemesis not only out of curiosity but out of concern as well.

‘I’m telling you...” The woman lowers her voice into a conspiratory whisper. “They keep him in the basement. It’s not really the basement but  we all call it the basement.

The walls are paper thin in Arkham, but they think that we are so drugged up that we cannot even hear.”

“What screams?!” Batman asks, his throat and chest constricting involuntarily-  _dammit_ -

“Can’t make out the words.” The woman dismisses me. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to go back to Arkham. Meet me in three weeks at the  ‘sordid’ club in the narrows if you want more information.”

 

Batman has no choice but to nod. ‘Sordid’ is a seedy bar in the narrows, but unlike other seedy bars where it is just drug dealers and junkies  and prostitutes, ‘Sordid’ is where all the traders and information sellers and hackers meet.

Of course there are prostitutes and drugs, they run rampant in the narrows but the ‘Sordid’ is different. Batman left the police station after the woman leaves and gives Gordon a nod goodbye. 

* * *

 

 

“Bruce.” The teenager in his mind gulps slightly. Alfred is using that tone. 

“What happened?” Alfred is not suspicious of Bruce. But he did want to know, just to make sure. Out of obligation for his charge, of course.

 

“I...was trying to wake him up.” Bruce takes off his cowl as Alfred nodded-he decided to believe.

 

“I trust you, sir. Now, if you must, I should go feed the bats.”

Bruce’s jaw dropped. “You feed the bats?!” He managed incredulously after a moment.

Alfred glances at him, in the almost snobbish way that only his butler can manage.

“The bats need food, too, Master Wayne.” The Butler grins a little at his joke and stalks off. Probably to not feed the bats.

 

When he returns back up into the penthouse, the Joker is still up, staring out of the window.

“Jack?” Bruce asks, wiping his face with a wet towel. The man gave no response, sullen as usual.

 

“ _Joker_?” He asks again. “What do you want?” The Joker asks, curling on the couch and holding his face with a hand.

Batman seems to be keen on making conversation. He’d rather look out at all the pretty lights outside and think of falling.

* * *

 

 

Everyday is slowed to a stop for him, it seems. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours and hours felt like days. It would have  been better if he just falls asleep and  _never_  wakes up.

The only thing holding him back from actually jumping out of the window and feeling the wind on his face is-Joker is not so sure anymore. He is not even sure what it was to begin with.

 

Bruce moves to sit next to the Joker, unsure if the man still remembers the  _fucking_ in the dark, when they thought no one was  looking.

“Do you...?” Bruce hesitates, not wishing to break what tender neutrality they hold between heave other?

“Remember?’ The Joker finishes. Of course he does. His memory may have been bad, but the things he remembers the most was his time with Batman-mostly one night stands. That was the only reason he agreed to go to Arkham-so that they can at least try.

And look how that turned out to be.

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, when something, most likely memories threatens to flood his already fragile mind, the Joker would lock himself in Bruce Wayne’s  large, luxurious bathroom and take the razor to his arms. 

He has no idea why he hides the scars-he was so proud of his old scars-but they were gone now and all he has left of them are the mock-smiles on his arms. He’d like to have a reminder of who he is, hidden behind the layers of exhaustion and pretend-sanity.

“I remember.” Joker tells Wayne. It’s not like he cares much. Not anymore. Somehow, Arkham has managed to burn all the feelings he used to hold for Batman under the drugs and medications and whatever that causes the screams and whispers in his mind.

 

“Oh...” Bruce turns away, not being able to control himself anymore if the Joker continues this way. He wants him. Bruce has known for so long, and now that he is ‘sane,’ he thought that they had a chance. 

 

But then the state the Joker is in-just- He seems so- fragile is the word. But the former criminal might just flip on him if he said that.

 

Alfred found Bruce asleep on the couch and the Joker curled on the floor. He decides to ignore them and start his work. By this point this  should be a usual thing. But he makes sure to stay as far away from the sullen criminal as he could.

 


	6. 6. Little white pills

Ch5:

 

Bruce decided that Bruce Wayne has been out of the socialite world for long enough. Any longer and the people of  Gotham might  get suspicious as to why Bruce Wayne has not thrown another party yet. He sends the invitations out three days early, but most  people invites themselves.

So here he is, holding a glass of champagne with Alfred busy greeting the guests. The meeting with the woman is in  another two  weeks and four days(he keeps count), but she is back in Arkham. He would have to look into it if people are breaking out of there  so easily.

Jack is back in his room, locking himself in without a word when Bruce mentions he has a party. He wanted to bring the man out,  show him to the rest of the world and have him slowly integrate- 

He would have to know what happened to the Joker first.

The crowd of other trust-fund-raised socialites, ex-stars and A-list celebrities swiveled around him. Even being at the center of attention, Bruce cannot ever hope to fit in with a crowd like this.  And he’d rather not. 

“Bruce! Hey, Bruce!” 

Bruce turns around, almost spilling his drink as a large hand clamps down on his shoulder. Humphrey Douglas, son of  Richie  Douglas and one of his classmates from College.

 

“Hello, Humphrey.” Bruce manages to force a smile. Humphrey Douglas is exactly the kind of man he pretends to be in  public.  Haughty, snobbish and self-centered. 

“Thinkin’ bout something?” He laughs. “Or someone?” Bruce pretends to think for a moment and his mind settles on a  certain blond man just upstairs.

“Yes, actually.” Bruce grins again, this time genuine. There is no harm talking about this, right?

Humphrey’s grin becomes even larger as he bares his sharp teeth and hands Bruce a few pills out of his neat suit pocket. 

 

“Well, if the someone doesn’t wan’t it...” He slapped Bruce’s arm and walks off, leaving Bruce gaping at the small, round white pills  on his  palm, awash with cold fury.

If Batman happens to run across Humphrey Douglas tonight...

Bruce should call the police. Notify them immediately. But then what? Douglas has enough money to get out of  something like this a thousand times. There is also the fact that no one would believe anything about this.

Because Justice becomes crooked when in Gotham city.

 

He pocketed the drugs and walks off, trying to stop his hands from shaking. The rest of the party passed as a quick blur, and then  he sees Douglas whispering to another man in a smart suit who looks entirely uncomfortable in the situation.

 

 

By midnight most of the guests have left after becoming incredibly drunk and trashing the place. Alfred made a point to call the  cleaners. Again.

For once since after him becoming Batman, Bruce got trashed. He stumbles up another floor and pulls of his suit jacket,  the room  too hot and stuffy.

His hands clutched around the pills as he gulps down a glass of water and splashes the cold liquid across his face.

‘It’s a bad decision,’ he tells himself. But his mind is whirring under the encouragement of alcohol and need. Just for one night,  Bruce promises himself. The Joker would never know. Bruce just wants to hold him.

 

 

Watching Jack take the glass of water, Bruce wanted to snatch it out of his hands, dump it on the ground and stop  himself for doing something he will regret when sober. Then the ex-clown turns back to the window and Bruce sat down onto his bed-his, the Joker is back in his room again-

And around a few minutes later the Joker holds his hand to his forehead, as if realizing something and Bruce opens his mouth to  explain-

Then he falls to the soft camel fur carpet and Bruce went and picks him up, head and heart pounding in his skull and  chest.

Why did he do this?

 

Control. Bruce wanted to be in control, especially of the Joker. It’s not control as in to watch his every move and make his decisions  for him, but to be a part of importance in his life.

Love. Now that Bruce is drunk, he can admit that yes, he loves the Joker. But he does not want to admit it. What they had before- it was good, but there is a certain amount of guilt that he used it to manipulate the clown to go into ‘therapy.’ And Joker  must have  known it- and he still went.

Mistake. Doing this is a mistake.

But Bruce continues to stroke the blond hair. The Joker is unresponsive in his arms- and oh god what the hell did he do-

He kisses those soft, (they are as soft as they look, and sweet) lips-he has wanted this for a long time-too long, but it just feels wrong when he is drunk and the Joker is unconscious-

He tastes like sugar and gunpowder. That is one thing that has not changed.

Bruce presses kisses over his neck, and pulls the hooded jacket up gently, pressing kisses to his scars that has not been removed  by Arkham on his stomach and chest.

The alcohol is influencing him too much, Bruce thought as he pressed his face into Joker’s neck and collar.

Bruce slipped into a hazy sleep as the night quietened by the light of an early dawn.

With sleep, comes innocence. The world of dreams does not judge nor disdain. It merely accepts, what move you make  and what  steps you take.

The world of dreams merely watches.

 

 


	7. 7. Reve

Ch6.

Bruce’s head ached as he woke up. He must have had too much to drink. Blinking to clear his eyes, he shuffled against the silk sheets again and widens his eyes when he realizes that there is another person in his bed with him. Oh shit. Oh shit. This is not good at all, Bruce gulps as he looks down on the Joker’s still knocked out figure. What the hell did he do last night? Bruce rackles his mind for any ideas of what he did to the ‘roofied’ clown. Thankfully everything around them is clean and he seems fully clothed.

Bruce would never be able to forgive himself if anything happened. He left one of the pills in Joker’s room, in an empty pill bottle. Not that he could forgive himself for being drunk enough to think that this is a good idea. “Ugh...” Bruce groans, a sour taste on his tongue and the sunlight shooting into his eyes. He fucked up. He fucked up royally. “What should I do _what should I do_ -” Bruce paces around the room, running a hand through his hair.

A knock on the door breaks him out of his panicking.

“Nothing here, Alfred!” Bruce calls through the door and hoped, feverently that Alfred would not just barge in. Outside the closed door, Alfred raised an eyebrow. It seems that Mr Wayne has found himself in bed with some stranger again. Well, better go and ignore them.

He has enough _experience_ to not go into Bruce’s room without knocking. There are some things he’d rather not know. “Whaa...?” The Joker blinks, trying to get the fuzzy sound out of his mind. He barely remembers what happened last night. He was just there. Then everything is blank. This was like _waking up in Arkham_.

“Y-you are awake?!” Bruce gulps again. How is he supposed to explain this? Should he lie or tell the truth? “G-uah!” The Joker gasps and attempts to push himself up only to fall on the soft mattress with a ‘thud.’ His limbs felt weak and limp, with not an ounce of energy anywhere to be found in hid body. His head pounds slightly. Bruce sits back onto the bed, the hangover still clouding over his brain like a depressing film of grey.

“You all right?” He asks and Bruce suddenly wants to slap himself for stupidity. Of course the Joker does not feel ‘all right!” He drugged him. And Bruce has no choice but to lie, so he lied.

But Bruce does have a choice. To tell the truth and promise, that something like this would never, ever happen again- But he is scared. Frightened by the prospect that if the Joker knows, he would leave.

It’s not the worst thing Joker could do, but it is one that would _devastate_ Bruce, the amount of feelings he has put into the clown. “I’m, uh, fine.” The Joker grounds out. His throat seems to be blocked and so is any recollection of last night, but he has no memories about anything that has happened.

“Oh.” Bruce replies. He loves the Joker, sure, he has admitted it, unwillingly. But who exactly does he want?

The Joker, who barged into his life, _burning everything_ in his path. Batman’s arch-nemesis. The man who brought Gotham to a _standstill_. The man who burned a warehouse of money. The man who completes him. Or Jack-Joker. Silent and sad but so, so beautiful. Who looks out of the window at night. Who is tame. Where it could actually work, a normal relationship, if only Bruce breaks through all his shells without fucking up.

Bruce knows that he wants both, somehow, at the same time. He wants the Joker to laugh and fight him, but listen when he wants him to and not kill or destroy anything or anyone, who has secrets for Bruce to uncover, whose eyes burn with the flame of life and his love- He feels disgusted at himself, at the realisation that he has never loved anyone, or the complete version of anyone.

Bruce loves his parents, but their death and the sheer trauma of it messed with him. Instead of mom and dad who birthed him, took care of him and went to parks and bought him ice cream he loves the people who are heroes of Gotham, Martha and Thomas Wayne.

He loves Alfred, the man who raised him and surly loves him as a son. Bruce loves the man who was there for everything, who worked for him and managed his life, who listens and accepts Bruce and cracks jokes. Bruce is pretty sure that Alfred knows him from inside out. And he knows Alfred too.

Bruce loves Rachel. Or the Rachel that is not the girl who ran with him in the playground at kindergarten and picked flowers with him, but she who represents _normality_ , perfection and everything Bruce strives to be, without faults and full of understanding. They would not be able to get along even if she lived to be with him. They are too different. In a way, he is repulsed by her normal-ness, just as he worships what she stands to be.

He loves the Joker, or Jack, but he only wants a mixture of both, and instead of striving to accept either Bruce wants him to mold to fit Bruce. He is selfish. Bruce realized, at wanting everyone around him to fit with him, instead of just accepting who they are. But that could be just who he is.

“Anything wrong?” Joker murmurs from the bed, still too tired and dizzy to be up for too long. “No. Nothing. Nothing is wrong.” Bruce croaks, eyes red around the rims at the self-realisation and revelation. But if he sees his faults, that means he could change for once instead of thriving in ignorance. Everything will be _better_.

\------------------------------------------

The meeting in Sordid is in three weeks and three days. He strives to find out what Arkham has done. To make up for what he did. He has a date, of course. The enormous party Bruce Wayne threw last night got onto the gossip magazines and even some of the real newspapers as ‘one of the biggest parties of the year.’ So of course he got date invitations.

Three of them, he accepted-only to get on the headlines once again- draw Batman from the spotlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what do you think?


	8. 8.so-ro

“I’ve gotta go now-” He tells the Joker, only to find that the man has already gotten up.

Pushing open the bathroom door, Bruce calls out- “Jack-?!”

Only to see the sight that was only possibly from his dreams. The room is filled with steam and the shower is running, but what really takes Bruce’s breathe away is the man in the shower running  his hand through his long, golden hair- the curve of his spine, the way the water hits the scars on  Joker’s body-

The soapy, bubbly water sliding down his buttocks and thighs-

Bruce swallows, his throat suddenly dry and his boxers very, very tight. 

“Are you watching me shower?!” The Joker stops his motions abruptly. He has noticed that the  door has been open, but thought the bat would close it immediately.

Bruce slams to door. “No-no!” He yells, blushing furiously. Damn. It took a few deep breaths and thoughts of the broad of  Wayne Enterprises in thongs(gah!) to calm himself(and his buddy) down. He has it bad. He has it  very bad.

The Joker could not really be bothered chasing after Wayne for this. Well, he would have stabbed  him, maybe. Carve a smile on his cheeks as a reminder.

He steps out of the shower, locking the door, taking the edge of a razor and stepping back in,  bringing it to his left arm. 

 

Joker closes his eyes. The urge to burn and kill is still within him, as well as the anger at Arkham  for taking everything away from him.

The Joker wants revenge. Against Batman, who pushed and pushed and threatened until he  relented and the doctors who made him wake up in cold sweat at night and took away every  ounce of himself from him.

His senses, which used to be so sharp is dulled. Every droplet of water takes much longer until it  hits his skin. Taking a step is harder, his legs filled with lead.

Trapped in his own body.

He considered going out and just stabbing someone, but the knife weighs a tonne in his hands.  The promise of Arkham and his own lack of interest and desire-

 

Why can he not muster up anything? Tiredness is the only option and the world runs in slow  motion around him.

The blade cuts into his arm, shallow, but the sharp bite of cold metal and the red blood leaking  out of himself and dripping onto the floor seems to cut into the dullness, bringing him back into  reality for one short, glorious moment-

And it’s gone. Joker does it again, but it never lasts, making him more and more frustrated until he notices the salty, tangy taste of blood in his mouth.

For a moment there he wants to cut the blade deep, just end it there so there can be no more of  this- frustration and mellowed anger-

But he did not- Somehow, he did not. Joker rests the blade against his skin, just to know that he  has that option. The crimson blood swirls down under his feet, the only few to know his secrets.

When he steps out everything is clean again and the blood has stopped flowing.

 

 

Candy, Alicia and Jules are the girls he is going out with this day. Bruce has them hanging on his  arms and giggling around while he sips the soda in the outdoors restaurant- 

The Odyssey, an enormous entertainment center built out of the docks of Gotham shaped like that legendary ship it was named after. The sun hits the small, round waves in the ocean.

But Bruce’s mind is not on the view or the girls or the food. It rarely is on anything other than the  Joker these days. Impossible dreams about him-them

And

Something akin to dashed hope, he supposes. Even if the Joker finds out about being drugged and forgives him-(Which is very unlikely and Bruce knows it)-

 

There is-

“Bruce?” Candy whispers and Bruce looks up with a ‘huh’ at the doll-faced girl with the blond pigtails. The pink tips of said pigtails bounces slightly as she smiles.

“We were just talking about Harley!” Jules chips in and Alicia leaves with a phone call-

“Uh-huh” Bruce musters up an effort to seen interested.

“She works at Arkham- You sponsor them, right?” Candy continues, Jules also leaving after Alicia,  their matching blue dresses swaying in the wind.

Bruce’s interest immediately perks up at the mention of Arkham. Not like the paparazzi hidden  behind that pot plant would care. No, he only wants to get a shot of Bruce Wayne being ‘ditched’ by  his dates.

“Yes-yes I do- What about Arkham?” Bruce asks, leaning closer. Candy’s baby-blue eyes sparkles and he kind of wishes that they would be green.

“Oh, Nothing!” She giggles. “I have a degree in psycho-pharmacy-I have a old classmate that works there-”

Bruce splutters- “Y-you have a degree-” “PhD, actually,” Candy replies, still smiling. But a bit cooler. A lot cooler,  actually.

“Not like you would notice..” She sighs and turns to the view, resting her chin on a hand. Bruce feels slightly insulted at the jab at his intelligence- but he is supposed to be an idiotic billionaire and  his public image is certainly not helping-

 

“And you are totally into someone else.” Bruce chokes on his soda. Again.

“W-what?!” He coughs, “No lies, I can tell- Who is it?” She does change topics awfully quickly-

He thought of a certain clown, ex-clown person who is-was his arch-nemesis possibly napping on his couch at home, the hair-(which is really, really soft fanning around his face)-

 

“Damn, you have it bad-” Candy comments, tapping on her phone some more and snapping a  photo of the ocean- the mid-morning sun spills down, not too warm and not too cold. He would like for the Joker to see-

“-really, really bad.” She finishes the sherry in a gulp, and beckons for another one.

“I-” Bruce’s face is completely red by now, and the suave words he could usually manage is now  thrown far far away into a dusty corner in his mind-

 

“Bad.” She repeats. 

“Right, yes.” He sighs and ruffles his hair. Bruce sees the paparazzi take another photo. Good for  him.

“Now, about Arkham-” Candy looks up from her burger. 


	9. Chapter 9

“May I ask you what you are _doing_?” Alfred asks, scrubbing the already clean glassware with an embroided hand towel. “Nothing.” The Joker ignored Jeeves. Hah. _Jeeves_. He continues to paint on the clean, white walls(that reminds him of Arkham). It appears that Jeeves is not quite happy of the blueberry juice stains and smiley faces on the walls. Joker gives no **shit**. If it takes his mind off the crushing boredom, then, yes. “It does not look like ‘nothing’ to me.”

Alfred frowns. He would not like to explain to the cleaners why exactly there are purple smiley faces in Joker style on the walls in Bruce’s Wayne’s house. In fact, he probably should not tell Bruce that the Joker really does not speak more that three words at a time. “It makes shit faster.” He continues to dip a finger into the juice and licking it of the fingertips. “Why do you need to do that?” Alfred makes himself tea. He would need tea if he is going to spend an entire day with the Joker. He does not answer.

“Jack?” Oh, Alfred should be cautious of that. But the man just continues to paint on the wall. After a short moment, Joker stops his finger on the kitchen wall. “ _Fuck Jack_.” He deadpans, painting out a picture of what looks like a man hanging from his entrails- ah, well. As long as no one is getting hurt-or if nothing is getting blown up.

“Joker, then.” The Joker nods. Actually, he does speak more that three words. Alfred fixes his shirt, and glances to the (is it what children call a hoodie) jacket he is wearing. In this weather. “Now, may I ask, why is _shit_ show?” Alfred requests.

“Cause.” Joker gave no answer. He is not going to answer to Jeeves’s questions like the questions of a goddamn shrink. And because the deafening buzz in the air is back, sinking it’s paralytic claws into his brain- He can see and hear everything clearly. It is not like taking the drugs they called medication back in Arkham. And things does move normally to anyone else. It’s that everything feels slower and the **colours** seems more _dul_ l inherently.

He sucks on a piece of his hair. Joker seems to be doing that quite often. He hates that dull, slowing feeling that hangs over his head like a grey cloud.

Even painting on the wall has lost it’s appeal. Nothing seems interesting enough and, although he wants to kill, he couldn’t muster up the motivation to- “Cause I can’t feel anything but nothing?” Joker regretted saying it slightly when the elderly butler just ups and leaves, but, whatever. Each to his own. “Anything but nothing?”

That does sound familiar to Alfred. But he does have time to kill. That he does not want to spend looking at the Joker becoming all...vacant. But Alfred decides that the best thing to do when you don’t want to venture into certain grounds is to ignore it.

Bruce went to a bar that night and got drunk. Candy told him what her friend told her about Arkham. It may not be true, but the amount of details that she knew could have only been confidential information released by someone on the inside.

Things that he would definitely _not_ have seen as Bruce Wayne. Not even some things he has seen as _Batman_. Her friend has always wanted Candy to broadcast something like this. With her celebrity status, all they needed was to find evidence. But finding evidence is harder than scaling a mountain with one hand while playing a _ukulele_ -according to Candy.

But even the doctors who called for a change are shut down. With Doctor Arkham growing older and the committee embezzling most of the money he donated to fund their decadent lifestyles in the dark.

The guards take **sexual advantage** of drugged ‘patients.’ The drugs they use are half-untested. Most people, the interns, the doctors, the nurses-they either sink into the web of corruption or grow so numb that they no longer see-or choose to see at all. Then there are the underground fights-people got injured regularly and the people- the top dogs- They don’t give a shit as long as the money flows in. And Bruce, Bruce is _at fault_ too.

Candy asked him if he could do something about this. But what could he do? It seems that he is at a loss about what he could do. So _alcohol_ become the favourite playboy option to solve this problem. It seems that 'Bruce' is more ingrained in his humanity than previously thought. Just to take the edge off the information. He would need to go out. Tomorrow. And get Gordon to do something. But tonight is for himself.

Everything blurs into one huge mess. Clinking cocktails, and shots of vodka and who knows what else. He drank until he cried. It was raining outside that night. Gotham seems a little emptier than usual. Bruce screamed into the downpour. Then he laughs at his own stupidity. Some others outside of the high-end bar glanced at him, the man crying and laughing in the rain- And went back to their own lives. The waves of rain crashes down onto the concrete like war drums. A thousand armies marches through the streets of Gotham.

To anyone else, it would have been an over dramatic performance. It- the facts- would have come as a shock, yes. Most would be sickened, but not feel the crushing guilt that he currently holds. Bruce is different. He takes everything, _everything_ bad, dirty, disgusting and the guilt and anger and rush that comes with it and heaps it upon himself.

To him, being so close to the centre of the issue felt like sensory overload.

 

Bruce falls to his knees, as if to repent against his unknown crimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Bruce gets drunk, shit goes down-  
> Tell me what you think :)


	10. 10. red

Bruce did not know how he got home. Maybe Candy drove him home, but she was as _plastered_ as him as he remembered. The Joker is not on the couch. But he is in Bruce’s room. When Bruce trudged in, drunk and soaking wet, he latches onto Joker.

He was just standing there, by the large window. A low rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning- He lights up. He is glowing, and Bruce felt as if _he_ was the one weighed down by the sins of humanity.

For one split _second_ , **their roles were reversed** \- Then the lighting flashes again, and it lands on Bruce, exposing him- Bruce leaps at the Joker, who spins, around, maybe a bit surprised- Then he kisses him, lacing his fingers through his hair, mixing the tang of alcohol and the taste of blueberries together. The Joker freezes. It was fear, and he knew it. It was suddenly Batman, and not Bruce Wayne, who is pushing him onto the ground and instead of stroking his hair, he is pulling on it- His hair is being pulled out by their roots- He tries to scream, but no noise can come out of his throat.

Everything is _blank_ and there is only them- Bruce is only aware of Joker’s warm body, and the water sliding down his face- He thrusts against his thigh, not caring about getting their clothes wet- He bites the Joker on his throat, hearing a little yell- It felt wrong, but so good. The man- the bat thrusted against him, and all Joker can do is to cling on and dig his fingers into the larger man's back, closing his eyes and imagining that this is _not happening_ \- it's not happening-

The shoving becomes harder- and rougher- Bruce huffs above the Joker, rubbing himself against the fabric until he is spent with a cry, collapsing onto the man beneath him in ecstasy- Sleep came easy with such an intense climax.

The Joker did not move even when the Bat stopped, and most likely feel asleep sometime later. Images, blurry and dark, rushes through his mind. His lungs are caught in his throat. Then some other images, suddenly as clear as day imprints itself, unwanted, of _Batman_ \- He chokes a little, and realises that his throat is so raw and hoarse from muffled screams lost on Wayne’s tongue-

The rainwater sticks onto his skin, sinking into his body through his pores, as if they are claiming him along with the man above him, who sank his teeth into his neck just moments earlier- The bite still throbs- a mark of ownership, almost.

Outside, the storm rages on, a fearsome force of nature that they, Batman and the Joker, commanded and veered through just months earlier. Now it witnesses the complete fall of the two without a care in the world. For him, sleep only came from the exhaustion of listening to the mocking fall of raindrops. Pitter-patter _haha_.

When he woke Bruce Wayne is still lying on top of him.He wishes that he has a knife, so he could stab the playboy-slash-vigilante. But Joker doesn’t, so he did the next best thing. Pushing the snoring man onto the ground with a ‘thump!’ And Wayne remains asleep. Closing his hands around the other man's throat, he squeezes, but there is another reaction taking place in his mind- the urge of fight or flight- pure animal instinct and the walls are closing in on him and he _runs_.

The Joker pushes himself up, legs shaking and eyes wide open. He is still in shock. The Bat did not seem all that interested in him in his time here, and Joker is perfectly fine with it. Until last night, nothing has changed. He stumbles into the bathroom, locking the door with a loud ‘Crash!’ Before stripping down to his underwear and stepping under the hot spray. Of course, he took the small blades with him.

Joker rests a razor against his wrist as the water soaks through his skin. He slices down, hard. The pain made him aware. Why is he doing this? He could lie. Forget about it. Laugh it off. But a shockwave-a shockwave of blurry memories come crashing down and this life mixes with his past life and something very, very distant- He cuts again, just above the previous one, even harder. More blood seems to flow out of his wrists, his life pouring down the drain.

Joker made one, final slice that splits an artery, the blood even redder and rapidly disappearing. He closes his eyes.

\------------

Bruce woke up with sweat, rainwater and semen stuck to his skin. His throat is dry and he felt lightheaded, completely unwilling to appreciate the morning after the storm, and the sunlight hitting the drops of dew clinging to the windowsill-

“ _Shit_!” Bruce yells as he bolts up, last night’s alcohol-ridden ravings slamming back into his mind. He must have been out of his mind, to do something like that. A million thoughts and feelings storms through his mind and heart- He likes the Joker,he wants him he needs him he wants them to need each other He raped him- It was definitely not consensual- god, Bruce could see the utter disgust in the Joker’s eyes, and even the fear-

Guilt guilt anger and more guilt- “SHIT! JOKER!” He roars, searching around the room wildly until he realises the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. 

"No.'' Bruce whispers, eyes widening. " _No_.''


	11. Author's note

Just asking this because when I read this fic on my laptop all the words look weird like

I see y  
ou see me

and stuff like that. Do you see that too? Does it affect any of you reading this fic?

\----

On another hand:

I love all you guys, people who read this fic and I would like to say that you are all AWESOMESAUCE ILY

-iship

p.s. Is there anything I can improve about this fic? OOCness? What do you think? :D


	12. catharisis

**“JOKER**!” Bruce runs and slams into the bathroom door, hearing the locks protest. Bruce takes a few steps again and rams into the door once more, eyes red with desperation- He could have gotten it wrong. Maybe Joker was just taking a shower or something( _he hopes, he hopes so much_ ) instead of doing what Bruce thinks he is doing but he has to make sure has to make sure it would not be something he would regret-

“Dammit!” Bruce cries, but feeling a slight relief as the door buckles slightly. He jumps in again, and this time the lock gave in, giving Bruce a way in. “ _No_.” Bruce whispers. The blond man is slumped on the floor of the shower, naked apart from his boxers and three large, _ugly cuts_ across his left arm. Bruce snaps out of it, the image of red embedded in his mind,  dragging the door open and carrying the Joker out, trying desperately to stop the bleeding with a hand while screaming for Alfred. “What is going on here- Oh dear-”

Alfred comes striding in, only to see Bruce a complete mess, hair ruffles and clothes soaked and eyes red, carrying the Joker, who bleeds from his arm- “Please, Alfred, _help_ me!” Bruce pleads, thinking for one horrid second that this is too late- “Lay him down on the couch.” Alfred tells Bruce after feeling for a pulse. It is weak, but there. Bruce did as he was told, mind numb after an overload of shock and fear. He slumps down after Alfred gets to work- Stitching up the cuts, stopping the blood flow- After what seemed like hours, they were covered in blood but breathing a sigh of relief. Joker still lies on the bed, fluttering between two worlds.

Alfred went to clean up and Bruce to shower, throwing his stained clothing down and hoping to burn them and let this be a dream. It was when the water washes away the blood and his shock and weariness that Bruce realizes just what the fuck he has just done. Fuck. Let’s break it down into pieces. Bruce was drunk. He got drunk because he felt _guilty_ -

because all the money he sent into Arkham never really mounted to _anything_ \- And because he maybe knew what was going to happen to the Joker in Arkham, and he still sent him there- Then he gets drunk- it was no excuse. He- did it- because of _lust_ \- he wanted the Joker- has wanted him ever since the man grabbed him and melded their mouths together in a dark, rainy alleyway- that escalated to dirty, quick rutting in the back of alleyways.

In some way, in his inebriated mind, he was thrown back into that time, where everything that happened between them carried electricity. Bruce shuts off the hot water, feeling warm steam and cold hair hit his body- pulling on casual dress, he strides into the lounge- And pulls out all the alcohol he knows he owns- expensive wine, expensive champagne, expensive whiskey, well, expensive _everything_ , really. And he takes a hammer and starts to smash them, one by one.

It would be viewed as a waste, but, as the droplets of sweat falls off his forehead, mixing with the splashes of alcohol- The crash of the metal hammer against the glass- shattering into a thousand brilliant pieces, each one of them glistening in the afternoon sun a slightly different way.

The sound of the loud crashes and soft clinks and the soon warm liquid around his feet, and the pain as the pieces of glass embeds themselves on his feet and the blood drips out- It was _cathartic_.

“What the _ever loving fuck_ are you doing?”

Bruce stops in the middle of a swing, turning his head in horror. He’d rather not...be seen like this. There is also the fact that he’d rather not face the Joker at all. The Joker shakes his head, wincing and frowning at the light- He is tired. Tired as hell. His mouth tastes so dry, with a slight sweet tang of blood. His head spins when he tries to think, and his arms hurts- and it hit him like a wave.

Everything since he came out of Arkham, and some drug-fuzzed memories, too- “Uh-” Joker’s words ran dry- what is he supposed to say to Wayne? He tries to sit up- Bruce runs, stepping on the glass to catch the Joker, who is about to fall onto the floor in his attempt to get up. “B-be careful-” He stammers, heart pounding.

His heart sinks when he recognizes the look on the Joker’s face. It is a familiar mixture of depression, anger and hollowness, mixed with a sense of hopelessness that resounds so well with Bruce.

“You-” He chokes out, and the Joker stares at him blankly at him with a familiar tiredness. Bruce nods. “I’ll, just take you, to rest..”

He trails off, picking the Joker up, wincing as the glass digs into the palm of his feet. The pain of his body takes a slight edge off the pain in his mind- but not really- Then he goes back to the now empty lounge and Bruce stares at all the broken glass bottles and he sighs, goes back to the bathroom and cleans out all the pieces of glass before cleaning out the lounge, throwing everything away so that no one would notice what a huge mess he made, and what a huge mess he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love :)


	13. ghosting around

The Joker lies on his bed in ‘his’ room that he had only been to a few times. It seems he would have to spend more time in here now that he is like...this. It still hurts, his arms. It still seems _impossible_ , what the Bat did and what _he_ did.

The Batman is a beacon of morality in his mind- Now that he thought back, maybe the bat still feels something for him. He knew that he should probably be devastated. Or hysterical. Joker could not bring himself to feel either.

Instead, there is just an overwhelming sense of _emptiness_ and hopelessness, not even able to bring himself to feel desperate, because desperation is _futile_. Did he hate the Bat? The answer would be yes and no. Yes, he did hate the bat. He force Joker to go to Arkham, which made him into...this. And the forced- sex- yes, he hates him.

A lot. No, he did not hate the bat. Despite all that has happened, a part of him mind still recognizes him as his ‘other half.’ How fucked up is it, hah. There is no use thinking about this. He has no control. Joker never had any control, but he liked it. Because no one else has any control over him- and now anyone and everyone has _control_ over him. There is nothing in him. The firey pit of passion, for fire, for burning, it’s _unreachable_.

Hidden away by the blurry film of nothingness. He couldn’t be bothered to even try and reach for it now. There is no use. No hope, no laughs, smiles or knives. There is nothing for him. And then there is nothing. You can say he is a fucking mess. Joker would agree. But there is nothing to do but just...keep going, right? He is a _fucking mess_.

He closes his eyes. Bruce walks into the room in hesitation. Joker opens his eyes, and they look at each other. Bruce can almost feel the resignation, and the hate of that resignation roll off him. And Bruce hates himself. For everything he has done- “Are you- I mean do you-” He asks, mentally slapping himself for his stupidity. Joker did not answer, and Bruce wants to back out quickly- The time they stare at each other awkwardly seems to stretch on forever.

Joker closes his eyes, and turns to face the wall. He just cannot deal with this. There, he said it. He gives up. Gives up on everything. He is finally broken. All the cracks and slips has gotten to him. Are you happy yet? “ _Are you happy yet_?” He asks, and Wayne steps back, looking surprised. Bruce feels something in him break at the emptiness. “I give up, Batman. I _give up_.” Joker feels a last sliver of control slip away from him.

In a way, it was relaxing. In a way, he justs want to lie down on this bed, stare at the ceiling or fall asleep and never wake up again. “I-” Bruce has nothing to say. For once in his life, he has no quip or remark or anything, really to say. Because what can you say to someone who resigned on everything when you are the person that caused them to feel that way? What can you do, say to convince them not to give up, to surrender to nothing.

At least, Bruce can do nothing. He gives a curt nod and closes the door. Joker closes his eyes and feels himself falling. The windows are locked. It seems the Butler has taken his time to suicide-proof his room. Shame that he cares. He wants to just.. _float_. Physical feelings like hunger no longer affects him, really. Nothing affects him because he is reduced to nothing.

He thought he cared about it maybe when he first came here. It flowed out of him when the blood went swirling down the drain. And there is nothing he could do. Absolutely damned nothing. Are you happy yet? There is nothing that he really wants. Absolutely _nothing_.

He just closes his eyes. The land of sleep is more welcoming than the land of the living. Because he has nothing to live for, and everything to die for. _“Are you happy yet_?” The Joker’s voice sounds in his mind as Bruce attempts to brush these thoughts away- Areyouhappy yesareyouhappy happyyet- It was no use- Bruce leans against the wall, looking out of the windows from the floor. Warm sunlight, a gorgeous sunset paints the room gold. At this point he is guilty of so many things that he might as well just walk himself to the nearest jail and sign himself up.

For the next two weeks, they avoided each other as much as possible.

Which is to say that whenever Joker is in one room Bruce walks in and vise versa. Alfred tries to ignore this...new development. Bruce avoids the Joker as he could not look the other man in the eye. He wants to apologize. He should apologize. But it’s not enough and never will be enough. Because what he did cannot ever be redeemed, no matter how hard Bruce tries.

Joker avoids him. Well, he does not. Wayne avoids him and Joker does not really care. But he does maybe a little but he does not. He hates Wayne for what he did. He cannot be bothered to hate anyone anymore, because he is deaddeaddead and he everything passes in a rush of colours, no longer slow-moving but sped up so a day is over in the blink of an eye. He is just a ghost. He is nothing else apart from a _ghost_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!


	14. A Sordid Affair

 Batman perches on the roof of Sordid, waiting to meet up with the woman. So much has happened in three weeks, but he is still eager to find out what has happened to the Joker. As a way of redemption-impossible because it’s not possible. Ever. But he still tries. He still tries so hard. To avoid the Joker when he just wants to- Sometimes he forgets that the Joker was a _murderer_. He has never forgotten what the man has done, the people he has _killed_.

But it’s hard to associate that with the gaunt ghost haunting his living room. He still remembers, of course. It would be impossible to forget. But somewhere along the like the simple(it seemed so hard at that time) mixture of _lust and hate_ became a much more complex mixture of _love, lust, guilt, anger_ \- and so many more emotions, so much that it’s almost impossible to count.

Batman, even as he hates to admit it, _misses_ the Joker, and the broken bond they used to share. The woman walks in, clad in a form fitting suit that contrasts greatly to her hair. All eyes in the club seems to gravitate to her and she knows this. The woman orders two drinks and walks out, into the mostly abandoned apartment down the street. “Batman.” She calls, and he knows that he has been found out. “Come, have a drink.”

There is a table and four chairs, all of them dusty and home to many, many spider webs. They sat down opposite each other, and no one knew which one was the interrogator. “What do you want?” Batman growls, as the woman pushes a cocktail towards him.

Seeing alcohol that is placed in front of him makes him... _uncomfortable_. There is also the chance that she could have drugged him. “It’s Ivy.” She replies. “It’s not me, Batman. It’s a friend of mine. She sympathizes with...Jack. Curiosity, mostly.” Batman is slightly uncomfortable with the information that anyone is obsessed with Joker other than-

“She wants to help the guy, because she wants to help Arkham. Inhumane treatments and all that, I personally would agree, of course, the way they abuse their _plants_ , not watering-” “Wait.” Batman stops what seems like an oncoming rant. “ _Plants_?” He lets a small slip of incredulity in his voice. “I care about plants more than people.” The woman, Ivy, appears extremely bored as she picks apart the tiny umbrella in her cocktail. Batman can see the reason why she ended up in Arkham.

Especially after pulling up on all the files of female patients in Arkham, and finding those who fit hers. He is completely sure that ‘Ivy’ is in fact Pamela Isley, a woman who was caught in a chemical explosion in a biological factory a few years back, after attempting to kill her coworkers and declared insane. “What do you want?” Batman asks.

Criminals he was used to dealing with usually wants money, or protection. But he is not familiar with dealing with the criminally insane apart from the Joker. “Oh, nothing but for all of humanity to die and plants like me to rule the world. And Harley.” “....” At least Batman knows what Ivy’s friend is called, now. “But let’s get back to business.”

She took his drink after seeing that Batman was not touching it. No sense in wasting a good drink. “I know that Arkham is-” “Using un-approved drugs and abusing the patients?” Batman do not want to waste any time. “Good, you know then.” She rolls her eyes, “We, as in my only human friends, want you to investigated Arkham. Assuming you want to.

Harls think that it’s better or something if the Batman was the one who made all their shit public- quote unquote.” Batman nods. “What do you want me to do?” The people at Arkham are insane. They need help, and so far the ‘hospital’ is not giving any help. Bruce Wayne could threaten to pull his funds out. They part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are love!


	15. Apologies

The Joker is sitting in the corner of the lounge. He has been sitting in the corner, looking out of the window from the corner of his eyes. Bruce noticed both times, but he was hesitant about approaching him. He did.

 “Hey.” Bruce hands Joker a plate of food. It, worries him that all day, the only things he seems to be doing is sleeping and wandering off. “Mmh.” Joker _dislikes_ it when the Bat sits too close. It reminds him of the doctors in Arkham grabbing him and pushing a needle in his- “I just want to-” Bruce shuts up. What does he want? He wants the Joker to get _better_ , that is for sure. But he does have a date with Candy. She told him she would bring her doctor friend.

And, there is the fact that he hates himself too much to help anyone else nearby, even if he wants to, because it was his fault- They sat there in silence. Joker picks at his food. It doesn’t hurt as much any more, but that does not mean he wants to. He wants to blow up a building, see the _red_ blood paint the grey Gotham skyline a brilliant red and he wants to go to sleep and he wants people to stop bothering him _ever_ again.

“Sorry-” Bruce blurts out, and his face burns up. The apology he has wanted to say for so long, but now that he did, it seems _empty_. Of course, Bruce _meant_ it. But when he actually does _say_ it, it just fells not- enough- Nothing is enough to make up for something like that. He hopes that the Joker would accept it- illogical- it was Bruce’s own doing.

Hope is decadent, yet his mind is soaked in it, refusing to open his eyes and see the impossibilities and instead giving into the decaying organ- “Uh-huh.” The Joker does not look at Batman.

Whether he accepts the clumsy apology or not, it does not make a difference in the fact that now, more than ever before, he wants to pierce himself permanently. with a blade. Or become a splat outside the penthouse.

What would their reaction _be_. Imagine, ehehehe. But after that first attempt- he is just too- dunno to try it again. The bat takes out all the razors and anything sharp from the bathrooms. Looking at his watch, Bruce mumbles another apology and leaves, patting the Joker’s shoulders, as if a reminder- ‘I’m sorry- don’t forget me-’

“Take him to the zoo or something,” He tells Alfred. He’s been sitting there all day-” Alfred raises an eyebrow, but nods. It was not too outrageous of a request. And the - _reformed_ \- man has been cooped up in the penthouse for too long. Perhaps that is why he appears so depressed.

Candy is even more dressed up than last time. Her friend, in contrast, wore pretty, but conservative clothing. They whisper to each other, giggling about something, pigtails swinging. The photographer for that gossip magazine will no doubt publish something about Bruce Wayne’s _‘pigtail fetish,’_ or something of that nature.

“ _Hey_.” Candy leans in onto the table, plucking a chocolate from the center of the table. Her friend does the same. “Hello- I’m Harleen. Harleen Quinzel.” She smiles, holding out her hand. Bruce shook hers. Alarm bells is ringing in his ears- Harleen? Harley? Could they be the same person? “Hi.” Bruce gave them one of his prize winning smiles.

They smile back. It’s a slightly cooler day than last time, as autumn reaches it’s heights. The Odyssey glints under the sun, a pleasant warmness, as the trees lining Gotham’s suburban areas turn red and gold and brown. A beautiful season. A season of death.

“Now that we are all introduced!” Candy drags her chair next to Bruce’s “Let’s get down to business!” Bruce nods. It will be great, to end the sickness going on in Arkham as soon as possible. “What do you want me to do?” Bruce asks, keeping careful eye contact. Throughout the years, his negotiation skills has steadily improved.

“Well, we want you to _investigate_ Arkham.” Harleen says, tapping her fingers on the table. “Are you not on it’s broad?” “I am.” Bruce sips at his water. Ivy promised to link him to a source to make large amounts of surveillance equipment, as his is all high-tech and insanely good, but not practical enough, as she said.

“Good.” Harley grins so much that her mouth hurts and she cannot see. Arkham has always been an inhumane and dirty place. And to think that she could change all this! Well, with some help. And to find out what happened to the Joker.

She cannot deny some professional curiosity about him. An interesting case, and an interesting man. The only time she has seen him after their few days of therapy was when he was heading out, looking all gaunt and broken.

But during those few days she felt as if she gained a brand new insight into humanity. Life, everyday life became irrelevant, different, a blur. He was powerful.

And that was the moment when she decided that she would find out. A crippling sort of curiosity gnawed at her mind. Harley has always been a curious girl. “We’ve got an agreement with Batman- would you like to meet?” Bruce barely managed not to spit out his drink. “I-I’ll pass-” He breaths after finally stopping coughing.

“Well, yeah-” Candy laughs “He’d probably dislike _your_ type.” ‘Definitely’ Bruce thought. “What should I do, then?” Bruce is still not used to the new knowledge that Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s beloved billionaire idiot, has some actual use during the day. “Well, since you asked....”


	16. Zoo Animals

 Alfred did what Bruce suggested. Namely, taking the sullen clown to the damned _zoo_. It was almost _surreal_ , and, two months ago, Alfred would have laughed at anyone who suggested it. And yet, here he is, wandering around Gotham City zoo with one of the most dangerous criminals ever seen in the city’s history.

At least he had the foresight to dress casually. It’s surprising how blind most people are- The Joker crouches by the lion enclosure, watching the big cats flicker their tails and lick their lips, the pride sunbathing under glorious fall. “You are just like _me_.” He whispers to them, the words barely heard. “Trapped. In a glorious cage. _My cage is my mind_.” And Batman.

He closes his eyes. “My memories. Arkham. The Bat.” The other visitors milled about, coming and going, not giving him a second glance. “What is _your cage_? You could leave at any time, yet you do not. Just like me. Is it the same tiredness? The never ending days that pass in the blink of an eye?” It’s easier, Joker thought. To talk to these animals rather than those ‘doctors’ at Arkham. "Or is it because you are getting us _ed_ to being _here_?

But there is no worries. No matter how tired, how much like a shadow he feels nowadays, there is always room in his heart for _blood and killing_. He just need to figure out how to unlock that door again. It shouldn’t be that hard. The lions yawn and lie down, belly facing the sun and scratching their backsides lazily- of course not synchronized, that would be ridiculous.

The Butler went off the buy some food, and told him to sit and wait like some good boy. Joker does like looking at the lions. He palms his face, and thought about what would happen if he lets them loose in Gotham, tearing open bodies with him leading at the head- it was glorious imagery. Humm...one day- one day. The woman next to him caught a glimpse of the bandages on Joker’s wrists and gasped so loudly that the entire group of people milling around the enclosure turned to watch, curious about the commotion.

“Oh! You _poor thing_!” Everyone, the people milling around like sheep, gathered to watch. Everyone. She grabbed him by hid wrist and gasped again, a crowd gathering around to see. He should have brought a knife just to stab her is the face, really.

Even the sickness(it can’t be anything but a sickness) could not stop him right now- “How could you do that to your self!” She screeched and another girl steps out from the uncomfortable and murmuring crowd. “Leave him alone!” She tells her. “It’s nobody’s business!”

Joker ignores them both. Psh- ignorant humans- they have no idea what will- “Well you know nothing-” The first one yells again, face turning bright red, the argument seems to go on forever, many from the crowd participating- “You know nothing as well-” “He needs a therapist!” “You don’t even know him!”

\----- Alfred came back to see an enormous crowd surrounding the lion enclosure, and knew instinctively that something not good is up, and it has something to do with the Joker. “Jo- Jack!” He yells, and the crowd quietens and turns to look at him. Of course it has something to do with the Joker. The guy is all the trouble in Gotham City wrapped up in the shape of a human.

Slowly, they scattered off to mind their own business, with only a few remaining. “Now, please-” He addresses the still fighting people, “I will have to call management if-” At last the remaining few dispersed. “Now, may I ask what was that about?”

Alfred frowns and hands the Joker a sandwich. “Nothing, old man-” “ _Bollocks_.” Joker stands up, trips and site down on the bench outside the enclosure again. Alfred did not push it. It is no use, to push the insane for answers or to trod on the downfallen.

That is what the Joker is, he realized, when he really thought about it. _Downfallen and depressed_. He has got nothing apart from madness and now the madness is gone. Bad for him, good for the rest of Gotham. There is no need to trod on the downfallen. He tells himself, But still feels slightly pleased that the Joker is like he is now. With someone like him there is no way to not be.


	17. plans and fillers

“Now Bruce, here is the plan-” Candy whispers, Bruce nodding along. He has to meet with Ivy tonight, to confirm the makings of the cameras by her contact. “We puy Jack back in Arkham-” “No!” Bruce glares at her, clutching his glass so furiously that it almost shatters- “You will **not** be sending him back-” “He will remain _anonymous_ \- like any other patient-”

“The answer is still no.” Bruce breaths heavily. ‘ _You can’t just_ -” “Then nothing will work!” Bruce feels the claws of guilt sinking into him again. Should he give up -Joker for the sake of _saving_ more people or would he shield him from more harm, already guilty of so many things? Bruce nods, after a while. He convinces himself that the needs of many outweighs the needs of a few. He agreed to save himself, from the guilt he feels when he sees the Joker and cannot feel as much hatred as he should.

“Okay. Fine-” “-But you tell me how do you know who I am-” Bruce questions. At least she kept to her promise, to never tell anyone else, not even Dr Quinzel(Bruce suspects that she already knows) “Basic profiling, Bruce.” Candy rolls her eyes. “You are loaded- Your ‘car’ costs loads. And there is the whole ‘Six foot tall and full of muscle-’ it’s so obvious it’s painful. See? Brown eyes? Check. Body type? Check- Money, _Check._

Bruce glares. He supposes there are ways to find him out, but- he is glad that the rest of Gotham is too caught up in their own lives to ever care that much to find out. “I suppose-” “As long as you agree.” Candy says. She dislikes the thought of putting another person under such pain again, but there is the mission to think of. She is being paid _a hundred million dollars_ , after all. A hundred million dollars for taking down a shoddy mental hospital institution in Gotham City?

Hell yeah! Not to mention the fact that she can finally utilize her training for something that is not showing off how many kinds of ways she can twist her body into on stage for the cheering crowds. It’s a good deal. As for Jackie? Well, unfortunately for him, he'd have to suck it up.

Bruce returns, troubled by his decision. What exactly can they achieve by doing this? Sure, it is to help other people, but should he lie or tell Joker the truth of why he is sending him to Arkham? He'd rather not. It's only for a short while.

“Master Bruce?” Alfred walks pass, casually asking Bruce of his day. “Alfred! What-” ”Ah, I did as you suggested,” Overall, the day was fine. He supposes. Bruce nods, swallowing the hard lump in his throat. He should tell Alfred. Should he tell Alfred?

“Alfred...I-I need to take _him_ bact to Arkham.” Alfred’s eyebrows shot up at that. Bruce should have a reason, but, as far as he could see, Arkham has not done any good- perhaps it seems so on the outside, but there is always something more. Something about that place reminds him of the insane asylums from decades past.

“May I ask why?” He is cautious. It is not like Alfred does not want the Joker out of his sight again. But the prospect of sending anyone to Arkham makes him uneasy- or perhaps it's his conscience again, that little bugger. Bruce sighs. “We-I need to get evidence. _Hard evidence._ On Arkham’s treatment of patients.” “Could you not film Arkham _right now_?” Bruce shakes his head. “The equipment is still being made. And the other patients- Arkham does not do that much to them, 

“You do realize what you are doing, master Bruce?” Alfred pats him on the shoulder. At times like this, Bruce still seems like the troubled boy from years past. “I know! It’s just....” Bruce sits down on one of the redwood chairs. “I don’t know what else t _o do_!” He really doesn't. 

“I cannot stop you, Bruce. It is your decision.” Alfred nods, gives a small smile and walks off. There are things that needs to be down- nothing is going to clean itself, afterall. There are some things Bruce needs to decide for himself. Bruce leans on the back of the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. He should tell Joker, then, if he has told Alfred pretty much everything- but he could not agree and then the entire plan would be jeopardized- But he owes him enough to tell him.

\- -----------------------------------------------------

No. Bruce stands and fixes his tie. No telling. At least no telling until the plan has gone by plan. Batman would have to meet the spy ware makers this night- they were having trouble- Isley-Ivy text-ed him to say that _they_ want to meet the one who is buying all this spy ware-

And he needs to meet them not as Batman and not as Bruce Wayne. Someone else, then. His character should be- His phone buzzed. “Do what you want- get a disguise, can't really ruin your, uh, _reputation_ now, can we?”

He could hear her scoffing. He texts back. “OK.”

Bruce needs a disguise, then. Going down the elevator, Bruce tugs at his collar again and pulls his tie off, throwing it to the ground. He opens one of the lockers with a combination and takes out Joker’s old disguise kit that he confiscated, so long ago. An unreadable feeling settles in him as he opens the box. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind off a filler chapter, but it introduces some pretty important plot points, so yeah :)


	18. Power

Joker tosses around in the bed, glancing around the barren room. There is practically nothing to do here. Everything is empty here. It's all _empty_. He takes out the bottle of sleeping pills, wondering if he should just tip it's contents all into his body and wait for the effects. Of course, there is only one in there. They took the _precaution_. Pfft. Hey, at least he could sleep easier.

They always take precaution. Why would Batman and his old butler just let him die? It would be much easier for both parties this way. But no. They just had to fake crap about 'caring' for him or something like that. The idiots. Hell, one day he would stick a knife in both of them and cherish that very moment. Right now, he swallows the pill with out any water, the dizzying effect seemingly familiar.

With a small groan, Joker falls to the bed, the bottle clinking on the ground. Bruce stares at the disguise kit, half-unsure of how to apply it, but too embarrassed to call Alfred for help- he has plenty of time, hours before the meeting, anyways. A loud ‘clang!’ from above the cave echoed through the cavern. "Dammit."

Bruce mutters to himself, instinctively knowing what is wrong. “Joker!” He yells, running to the room where they put the clown. “Fuck.” Bruce gasps, seeing the pill bottle rolling on the floor and the man passed out on the bed. “Fuck!” He pulls one of the hard, plastic chairs from the corner and sits in it, running his hands through his hair. “I-I-”

This brings back the guilt, so much guilt that he felt when he first drugged the man, for the reasons he is still struggling to come to terms with. Bruce needs to sit down and have a conversation with himself. A long, long conversation. “God, I love _you_.”

As soon as he utters the words, Bruce freezes with incredulity. Did he really, truly say it? If he did, then why has the skies not crashed down and lightening struck down upon him? Why has a million ghosts not point their fingers at his head and surround them with their accusing cries? “I love you, and _no one really cares_ , not now.” Bruce widens his eyes. No, no one, apart from himself and Alfred, would truly care about who he chooses to-

“I need you to go back- back _there_.” The heavy mass of guilt came back like a ton of bricks. The Joker gave no response- he could not, of course, but Bruce is still feeling guilty- and he will always feel so. “I’m sorry- so sorry- but this is the only choice.” ‘It’s not’ a voice in his mind whispers, but Bruce ignores it- “It is my only choice- but-”

There really is nothing else to say, is it? Bruce, now knowing what a hellhole Arkham is, is still willing to push someone else, another person, back there knowing that they have suffered beforehand. He cannot claim ignorance no more. Bruce stops speaking, for the more words he said the greater his self-loathing became yet even in silence it rolls off him. Bruce looks out of the window, the sky getting steadily dimmer.

A text lights up on his phone, alerting him of the hurricane that is due to head to Gotham two days later. Ivy states that plans may have to be postponed, as they cannot meet with those that are producing their equipment. “....” He texts back, and shuts the phone, slipping it back into his pocket. At least that is one problem solved. He looks back down to the sleeping man and decides to lie once more. Bruce went back to his room, unable to sleep

. A year ago- even a month ago- he would not have thought himself as a _liar_. He always told the truth- to Alfred- and to people he owed the truth to. And yet, even though he owed the Joker every ounce of the truth, he refuses to say anything. Bruce knows that he is one, now. He has been lying, not to others, but always- always to himself.

Even now, he cannot fully accept the extent of his feelings. Joker would, now and always, be one of his sore spots. A subject that he would not touch upon with anyone. Ever. Something that he would keep, locked up in the depth of his heart and mind with the proverbial key thrown far, far away. Something to never look back at again, because all the hurt that Bruce has caused to him and Bruce himself is too immense for anyone to understand the reasons- even Bruce cannot understand his reasons. Forgiveness is the key, some would say.

Can he forgive the Joker for all he has done? Can he forgive himself, for becoming like he is now? Can Joker forgive him, if all that he has done comes out into the light? Bruce is a liar. A liar driven by a compulsion. But even as a liar, he can tell you the full truth. The answer is no. In some ways, Bruce would never forgive the Joker for coming to Gotham. He hates him more than ever and yet he does not. It's conflicting in itself.

To terrorize the city. He killed Rachel- it destroyed Bruce. He killed Harvey- it destroyed his hopes for a better Gotham. He killed Gotham, with his laugh and shining eyes and the smell of cash and oil and gasoline- and that is something that Bruce cannot ever forgive. Bruce cannot forgive himself. He was no hero, and he knew that. Bruce wanted to protect Gotham, yes. But there are many, many other ways he could have done it, now that he looks back. But becoming Batman- that was an act of want. He wanted power.

To feel that power, of lives in his hands- the same _power_ that Joe Chill has felt when he pointed that gun at the family of three. That need of power, is what drove Bruce, to ultimately become the Batman. To have the knowledge that he could snuff out any life at any moment, silent and deadly, and choosing not to- to him, that is power. Bruce tried, so hard, to not get lost in that feeling of power- he focuses on saving the people instead of the fight- and he succeed, until the Joker came along. The clown made him drunk on power.

He would never, ever forgive himself for all the sins he has committed- the control he has felt- the Joker is a drug, and he got himself addicted. And it’s something that no one can forgive. If he thinks about it, there cannot ever be a day that the Joker would forgive him, for what Bruce has done. Bruce sent him to Arkham- first big mistake. Arkham is not a hospital, no. It’s a prison, one that takes your brain and grates it until your sense of self goes down the drain- Bruce could not have known this- he argues to himself, but he realizes that yes, Bruce did know this, long before hand- What he choose was punishment-

Bruce wanted to punish the Joker- he sent him to Arkham using the clown’s obsession with him against him- It backfired. Bruce himself became obsessed, but Arkham destroyed whatever shred of innocence they had between them, sucking away all the life the Joker had until he became Jack- a hollow shell of himself, not even a person- And he has Bruce to blame. Everything after that is moot. The drugs, the alcohol, the forced - the suicide- He has Bruce to blame. Bruce blamed himself, as well.

 


	19. Run away lover

The Joker woke up with a familiar pounding in his head. Throat dry and slightly dizzy. The wind howled outside, battering the glass panels and metal beams. He stumbles up, looking down at the city that used to be _theirs_. When there was a them. A dark cloud hangs over the city, entering the rainy season predominating the snows of winter.

He sits and looks, just stare at the rolling gray clouds exactly like the rolling hills of- It’s late, yes. But the Bat should be out by now, and the butler asleep. The fuzziness stays awash in his brain, a _parasite_ that refuses to leave. He takes three turns to reach the front door. The wind almost blew him away. Joker closes his eyes, and opens them again- there were barely anyone on the streets in this weather. It felt great.

Somehow, he is much, much better that the tired, _unfortunate_ self he was days ago. A small drop of rain falls, and lands on his cheek as he looks up, sliding into his mouth. It lights up the fire and unlocks the door. “Bats, bats, bats...” Joker murmurs, looking around. “I am looking for a _batty bat_ , who made me _so tired_ I can cry...”

Of course, he is still tired, and still sad(ha _ha_ , a sad clown!), and he would probably spend the next few days lying in bed or being thrown into Arkham. But today? No, today, of all days, was his. Today is a good day amongst a plethora of bad days. And Joker will have his good day, no matter what. The rain is increasing it’s momentum. Everything is grey, just like his perception of the colours around him the last few months. 

And yet, when Joker looks at himself, he can see _colour_ seeping back into his skin, into his veins and under his hair and eyes so that he can see himself. For once, he feels more like the Joker than he has in a long, long time. And he will do whatever he can to destroy what Arkham has turned him into. But first he needs to find out what has happened to him. To do that, he would need to enlist the help of some old friends.

Joker no longer cares about what the Batman thinks about him anymore. Any shred of want he felt for the man, the burning passion, the need, was scraped away by the man himself, and whatever asylum-regime he has imposed on him. All he felt was nothing, after that. And then all he feels is hate. Well, he still want the bat. He wants to kill him. He wants to kill ‘em all. Maybe not literally. Maybe just burn Arkham and leave- or he could _burn_ Gotham down to ashes. Now _that_ \- _that_ would be _fun_. Joker continues to walk along the street. 

He can see things clearly now that the grey clouds rolling over head starts pouring down in the form of large, bloated drops of water. He sees the raindrops drip, drip from the rooftops from the top of the buildings from the sky onto his face his nose his lips and it tastes like freedom and freedom tastes good. The streets and cris-crossing roads were all grey, sure, but small puddles formed in corners and ditches, and minuscule rivers danced in tiny riverbeds. It’s a nice day to go for a walk. A shame that no one else thought so. Now _red_ against grey...that is something anyone with photoshop would love.

So Joker turned a few corners, and has no idea where he ended up. Gotham is _huge_ , after all. Not wanting the colours to disappear again, and sensing the paint of living seeping out of his toes and fingertips, he decides to sit down on some quaint little bench in a quaint little english park he has wandered into.

The rain is still painting everything grey, and maybe the absolute lack of colour is something Joker dreamt up a long time ago, but it’s good to see something other than himself and his bland, civilian clothing have any colour. Even if it is just some flowers and nameless plants and shit. Something the crazy plant lady in the cell next door would _love_. A pretty picture, Joker mused. But it would be a lot _prettier_ of there is some more blood. To make things more interesting, of course. He giggles.

And entrails. And sirens amis the sound of falling rain. Something missing in this artwork, perhaps. He rocks back and forth on the bench. The rain is soaking through all his clothing. Joker takes off the jacket. Dancing in the rain, heh, is pretty fun. The rain forms a waterfall straight from the universe. Breathing in stardust certainly makes things feel better, but it is still not like what gasoline and explosions do to him.

Leaving the garment where it was left, Joker picks up speed. The wind is howling, a gale force ripping across the city. He walks past an open window, and find a little girl waving to him. He waves back. Children are little bastards, aren’t they? But their squealing is so fun to listen to. But the Joker has better things to do, right now- lucky day, kiddo. _Lucky day._

\----------------

Alfred paces around the room, brows furrowed. He does not hold any concern for the Joker, but him being gone would quite damage Mister Wayne. His obsession...it’s getting out of hand. And perhaps Alfred should have stepped in when it was not too late. “Alfred!” Bruce strides in smiling at the butler, still polishing the silverware.

It seems to be a tick of his- when Alfred is nervous- “Ah, yes.” Alfred looks up, “It looks like our guest has went out for a _walk_.” Bruce pauses- “Wait- a _walk_?! In this weather?!” Bruce pauses immediately. “Is he-” “I’m afraid so.” Alfred replies. “If you want to-” Before he has even finished, Bruce stands up and stalks to the various hidden compartments, the sky black with ink-like rain and heads down to the cave, fully intent on finding the Joker.

What the hell is he _thinking?_! Batman thought. Cruising along the streets takes longer than just walking. Some streets of the lower areas are already flooded. With the rain weighing down his cape gliding was impossible.

Water mixing with sludge and sewage swirled around the ankles of his armour, the stench sinking into every pore of body. On days like this Batman would never be out. No criminal activity takes place, with the wind striking the strength out of the Gothamites, until all they can do is to hide and wait. That is one thing similar between all the people of Gotham.

Whether it be his fellow trust fund socialites, the criminals, the GCPD, the regular, hard working joes or janes, everyone stops with there lives at times like these. It’s an unspoken rule. And they could always trust the Joker to break it, Batman grumbles, but anxiety is picking up speed in his heart. The man is still not seen.

He has checked all the usual places he could be. Toy stores, old abandoned warehouses, but he was no where to be seen. “Dammit.” Bruce cursed, punching the wall of an alleyway before backing over legs caught up in what seems like a garment- wait- Batman bends down to pick it up. Even in the darkness he could realize what it is.

The Joker’s jacket- well, the only one he seems to _like_ wearing. Soaked through with muck and water, but Bruce still sees it. And for one terrifying moment, he sees Joker’s body, cold and lifeless and floating there, just another one amongst the bodies of the sad, homeless people he has seen on the way. “Joker-” Bruce chokes out, and suddenly the cowl becomes uncomfortable, restricting. “Wherever you are- you can’t be dead- _I will find you_.”

_-You ran away from me, love, but I will always find you, love._


	20. Catch and Throw

 Joker trudges along, shoes and pants and shirt soaked through with rainwater. The dark clouds obscured everything, and only flashes of lightning and night’s own light gave any leeway of his surroundings. Wrapped in the shroud of darkness, somehow, the cold is not so bad. Or perhaps he is too _numb_ to feel anything, but he doubts it.

He feels alive, even as the wind howls through his bones and chills his blood until there is nothing but him and the rain and the ocean attacking the bottom of his feet. He is at the docks. The ocean, just as violent as the skies and the rain pelting it’s body like hard rocks, hums and rumbles beneath him. As black as ink and filled with electricity and life, it grinds against the rock and concrete, as Joker conducts the symphony.

Batman trudges along the muck, attempting to think of any place the Joker could be. He is especially fond of the docks, for reasons Bruce cannot think of- But only those with a death wish would appear at the docks at a time like this- “Damn.” Batman growls, rushing to the Batpod he stored away a few hours ago. Driving through sewage would be difficult, but certainly faster than walking through the sewage. “Hurry up!” He slaps at the bike, as it took the motorcycle three more times to finally start running- And then he speeds off to the direction of the docks.

 _Don’t let me be too late_ \- Bruce whispers in his mind, over and over again- _Don’t let me be too late._ By the time he reached the docks, another half an hour has passed, and it felt like an eternity. Bruce has almost lost all hope. The only thought to keep him going is the thought that even if Joker is dead, he needs to see a body to believe it. The wind blows across the oceans once again, the rain pelting the armour as lightning flashes across the ocean. Batman catches a small glimpse of a figure, sitting by the end of the docks-Small, against the black clouds, white lightning and howling winds.

 

And suddenly all the hope he has lost came back. He runs. He jumps on to the wooden docks and the man he was running for turns around. And, for a short moment, they stayed there. Bright green  eyes burning against the darkness. And at that moment Batman realizes that he was an idiot, to ever have thought the Joker could be ‘cured’ or ‘tamed.’ “Joker.” “ _Batman_.”

And they looked. Until the lightning flashes again, just like weeks ago- a similar night to this. And Joker stands up quickly as Bruce approaches, some sort of sick memory playing on his mind and falls back into the ocean. Batman jumps in without a thought, scooping up the smaller man and screaming at him- “What the hell are you _doing_!” Batman yells at the smaller man, struggling against him. “Getting away from _you_.”

Joker growls, and suddenly all the fear and pain leaves and all there is left is the anger. “Why.” Bruce asks. He knows now that the Joker can never be saves, but even then he wants to see- wants to understand what is it that made a human being this way and why is it that his heart jumps erratically when- “Cause you, bats, you _made me_ this way.” Joker looks up. 

Batman looks him in the eye. “We met when I was interrogating you-” Why are they even having this conversation while floating in the ocean? ”No, Batman. Nope.“ Joker sighs. “You don’t remember, do you? Well, I didn’t, either- not until Arkham made me.” “Remember what?”  Bruce remembers prowling the streets of Gotham, early in his career of crime-fighting. Angry. Young. Ruthless.

“Looks like you remember something, huh?” He looks up, eyes lidded. Bruce nods, frowning. The clown is delusional. “We talk.” He finally says. After we get out of here.” “There is no _we,_ Batman. There never was.” Joker replies curtly. Fatigue seems to be getting to him, the rush wearing off and the cold catching on. He was shaking, and a moment later Batman clambers back up onto the docks, carrying the Joker with him.

 

 

\-----------

The skies pour down as Candy concentrates, not on the wind and rain, but on one specific spot on the floor. She pushes up and down, focusing only on her steady breathing and the movement of muscle in her arms and legs and the regular tightening of her stomach.

Of course, she thought. Bruce Wayne is Batman. It’s kinda obvious. Tall, rich guy. Single. Troubled past. Not to mention disappearing for four days. Not that she minds. It’s not part of her mission, of course. Behind her, a woman clad in black, draped in a black cloth, with only her mouth exposed and various gems glistening on her garment, watches with disinterest. “

When are you going to finish him?” She asks, after Candy continues to ignore her. “Why are you so impatient? Not killing one person would not make all the evil- just, you know, seep out of your fingers and all that.” She finally answers, rolling over and starts another routine of sit-ups. Her toes curl up, clinging to the floor, with expertise.

“We need Doctor Arkham destroyed. Not dead.” The woman growls again in a low, bass-like voice. Husky and dry. “Right!” Candy groans. “Destroy his career, burn his public figure down- so that anything he says against us will just be the ramblings of a madman!”

“I’m glad you get the point.” The woman turns away. The orange light of the candles in the room flickers. “I will tell the mistress that the company will be safe- as long as you do your job, like we hired you for.”

“Of course, _M’lady_.” Candy continues with her exercise. “Isn’t that what you trained me for? As a public spokesman and a not-so-public life-ruiner?” The rain batters against the window as the other woman presses a button and steps into the elevator of the apartment complex. A whift of incense follows her until she leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, looks like the plot has finally started (yes it took me that long to set it all up) XD


	21. thoughts

“What do you remember?” Bruce asks, coffee in his hand and sloped on the couch. At this point he could not bother even to go and show up at work anymore. “....”The Joker gave no answer, sitting back against the wall in the corner.

Dark circles are painted, once again under his eyes, making them seem even larger than before. Yesterday was a good day, yes. But snapping back into the bad days just seems so easy. The colour is lost in everything. It drains out of his fingers and slips into the Batman’s black, black suit and comes out all grey and everything is grey again.

 _“Tell me!_ ” Bruce growls. His head aches. It is obvious that he has a cold- it was a certainty, really. By now, he has a slight inkling of what the Joker is talking about. There is definitely a period of time he has like in between the middle of his training and it is most likely that he was back in Gotham. What happened after that- It was a blur- there were faces, some faces and a lot of anger and definitely fear, but it was all just a colourful _blur_.

The Joker still did not reply. Everything is much less focused, even than before. It seems like the run drained more out of him than previously thought. “Think for yourself.” He says after an eternity in silence. Even if Arkham had brought back all his memories in all their insane clarity that almost( _ha!_ ) drove him insane for a moment, things are losing themselves in his mind yet again- almost like they don’t want to be back there again.

So he just stares out of the window at the cityscape of Gotham after the thunderstorm of last night. A brilliant rainbow streaked across the crystal clear and cloudless sky, but the unshakable grayness still follows him, wherever he goes. You have to wonder, what makes a usually careless, always jesting, always laughing man like the Joker the way he is now. There is no answer right now, Bruce muses. But he has an inkling.

Because even the criminally insane has something they care for. Even the Joker is not exempt from that. An ideal, perhaps. The thought that everyone in this world, given the opportunities and the sheer bad luck- one bad day- would become just like him. Bruce cannot truly see how they could get to the Joker like that- it is an impossibility. Then again- what he did- it was bad. Bad enough that the man attempts to kill himself.

Bruce did not entertain that as a notion- he could not. But he did hear- about that theory one of his psychiatrists put out- the Joker was, as she said, ‘hypersensitive.’ He feels more that regular folks do, like some sort of higher plane of mind and existence. He can feel more- oversensitive senses that drove him crazy, maybe- He would commit crimes, and he is happy- but things, like like, what Bruce did- would affect him more because he feels more-

To be honest, Bruce once thought it was bull. Telling the truth, Bruce has no training in the field of psychiatry and this opinion probably ain’t worth _shit._ They- Arkham- could they have done something similar? Bruce dare not imagine it. It would make looking at the Joker even more unbearable.

What got to him- It must have be something else. An obsession from so deep within his psyche that it is entwined with him- something vulnerable, even. As soon as this thought entered his mind, Bruce cannot seem to make it leave. It gnawed at him as they sat through the morning, awkwardly, but not unusual quiet.

“Is there...anything _you_ care about?” Joker taps the surface of the glass panels once again, the light reflecting off the surface and making his seem paler, even more sickly. He stretches his mouth, into that old, familiar grin- and a fraction of himself came back for a second- When every speck of life and light and colour danced to their own tune and people sang in fear of just seeing him and the cold, Gotham air sank into him and-

“What do you think?” Really, the guy never really thinks. But being up for so long is not- good- feels bad- He presses his forehead against the cool glass and closes his eyes, and he was falling again- the wind is on his fingertips and this trap of a place is so, so far away. Bruce falls silent. They must have gotten through the Joker’s walls some way or another. He wants to know how, why, and what they are- is he being just, purely curious or is there something else? Bruce is not too sure himself, but this would have to wait until he can finally contact the ‘techs.’ His phone buzzes.

Bruce brings it out, seeing another text from ‘Poison Ivy.’ stating that they could meet with the makers of surveillance equipment tonight. Bruce straightens his back. It is only mid-morning, but there is work to do. He stands up, and steps out of the room, leaving the Joker asleep where he was. Joker slumps against the window. If it was not for the glass panels he could actually feel everything, instead of just imagining.

Bruce stalks as far away from the lounge as he can- Staying there for a minute longer and he would go crazy from the amount of guilt and awkwardness. He could not imagine what someone like the Joker would think, being forced to live here. With him. He could not imagine. Bruce breathes easier when he with not in the same vicinity as the Joker. He does feel bad about it- he did this with the intention of helping the man- everything else after that just- escalated. Escalated badly.

There are days when he would just sit in his office, stare into the air and dream of returning- to _before Arkham,_ before he forced the Joker to ‘at least try.’ Then he has to ask himself about why- why the hell did the Joker agree to stay in Arkham?

He could have broken out at any time- but instead, he decided to stay. For what reason? Or is there a reason?- The mostly corrupt doctors and the brutish orderlies- did they force him- contain this uncontrollable force of nature and- do what? Bruce did not dare to think too hard on it- an he berates himself or being a coward for thinking so.

Because if he thinks too hard on it he would go into unknown, almost terrifying territories. Bruce sighs and runs his fingers, messing up his hair and slumps against the wall. There is no use in thinking too much any more- the only thing to do now, is to go along with the plan.


	22. break in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is becoming a confused mess...

The only thing to do is to go along with the plan and Bruce has no idea what the hell the plan is right now except that everything in his life is less organized than ever. Bruce sighs again and pinched the bridges of his nose. Alfred walks in and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Well, master Wayne, this is all quite messy, but I believe that it’ll be fine, right?” Bruce thanked the man, sits down on the chair, accepts the mug and groans into his hands.

“I have no idea- _no idea_ of what they would do to him-” “Then why?” Alfred asks, sitting opposite of Bruce. But as much as he hates the Joker, he would rather the man be sent to Blackgate on death roll than back in Arkham- it was not a case of revenge, but of his own morality- not that he could say that much, but at least Bruce is not burning down a forest for that man. Not yet. “I _have to_ \- have to expose Arkham!”

Bruce slumps onto the table. “If I don’t- then- all this could carry on and I will never-” Bruce stops himself in the middle of the sentence. Is it because he would never forgive himself if he did not expose the asylum’s misdeeds or is it that he wanted revenge on the Joker? It is not true, not when he says so to himself but everything Bruce does nowdays, seems to be tinted with the colour of disgrace.

And he does not even know why- or he does but he refuses to- Alfred nods, and before he manages to say anything, Bruce marches out of the room, jaw set, eyes determined- whatever he choose before- it’s too late to change now. There is nothing to do but to do what he promised. Even if the guilt of further damaging him- the Joker- will weigh on him for eternity. Any one else would have found Bruce ridiculous- or selfish- for wanting to wash out the guilt of Arkham by heaping it onto himself and heap the torture onto the Joker- but Bruce has his _reasons_ , even if he could not fully understand them.

The warehouse they are meeting at is a long way away- even by the tumbler. Batman swerved, avoiding screaming pedestrians and sticking to one of the many long, dark alleyways in Gotham City. Under the mask he has the make-up ready(granted, he did need Alfred’s help, after all.) and, after all is said and done, he does not look like himself. Even Ivy commented on that, raising a delicate eyebrow and letting out a not so delicate snort-

“You have a _porn-stache_ \- like the commissioner-” Bruce protested that mentally, but he could not help but think that Alfred does have something against this idea, after seeing the large, bushy, black mustache that now adorns his face. His face looks much older, and his hair mussed and greasy. The woman looks him up and down. “Perfect.”She says, noting that at least Batman had had the sense to hide the Tumbler far, far away.

The manufacturers seems like mobsters out of a movie. The red-haired woman straightens her tie as a plump man with a monocle and a long, hooked nose explains with a false, cultured accent the expenses needed to buy the high-tech, high-performance, and generally easy to use spyware. Bruce did not understand much of the tech, but a-they are high maintenance, and b-they want big money.

That, he could provide. Of course, even the mobsters seem unimpressed with his performance as a sleazy boyfriend attempting to stalk a girl. One with a quite peculiar lisp and a large trench coat snorted at him and whispered that Bruce “should just get a P.I. Instead of being a ‘ _crazy fucker_ ’ like he is.” With little to no trouble, Ivy and Batman managed to get all the equipment loaded into the tumbler. It was almost too _easy_ , a small, persistent voice niggled at the back of his mind.

\-----------------------

“This is far too easy.” Batman grunts. When he is in the suit he sounds, acts and even feels more like an animal. More beastlike than when he was out of the suit. When he speaks he does not talk like the civilized man. Even word he utters and every movement of his body is powered by something ancient and primal- “ _You_ would think so.” Ivy nods, walking towards the other side, the dark shadows covering the flickering lamplight on her face as Batman come to the realization that he has been working with a criminal all along. It was for the good of Gotham, Bruce argues with himself. Batman has plenty of time to think that night. Crime has not picked up yet, still licking the wounds the Joker and Harvey has delt on them.

\-----------------

Bruce thought about the Joker. Why he was doing this. It was easier, before when the only thing he felt was rage. Rage came easily to him when faced with a man like the Joker. But now, that rage becomes an urge to protect, even if the clown needs no protection from him. He hates himself, Bruce does, for destroying the thin balance of hero and villain he walked.

Batman laid himself bare to the Joker, even though he was the one who took and took and never gave. He thought about this...strange attraction he has for him- that he could have had for much longer than he has noticed- It was not a typical attraction, far from it. The Joker- he brings out a _dark side_ of Batman- of Bruce that he does not want to think about.

It makes Bruce want to mark him like a beast- a monster from times before civilisation- and he is not sure why. Darker, more basic needs surface, becomes monstrous, and uncontrollable. It made his blood feel like liquid fire and the room heat up- even now, more subdued, the Joker still has the ability to darken his soul-

There is one thing that Bruce has never admitted to himself. That when he first met the Joker- the ball of nervous energy- he felt more alive than he ever was before- the sudden rush of reality- and then it was gone and he has been chasing after it ever since. The Joker is a drug. And that drug was still sitting there, fiddling his fingers, only looking up darkly at Batman who stalks in.

“....Mhmm....” The Joker looks up, and looks back down at the half eaten sandwich on his lap. He does not even acknowledge Bruce- no matter what Bruce is doing _for_ him- this- tracking Gotham- giving mobsters money- it’s all for him-the damned criminal and he does not acknowledge it(In his anger Bruce forgets what he has done and focuses on what has been done to him.)

Bruce saved his life more than once- even what he is doing now- he is attempting to bring justice to the man, end the institution that tortured him and all he does is ignore him. Seething with rage, Bruce clenches his fists, stalks off to the bathroom and glares at his reflection, disguise mussed up and breathing hard. He punches the mirror. It shatters.


	23. doing what is right

The Joker looks up and throws the rest of the food into the bin. The look on the Bat’s face- it gave him a slight triumph, knowing that even when being trapped and doing nothing, he still grinds the other man’s nerves- To be honest, he has no idea what to feel anymore- but that is the point, is it not? To _go with the flow_ , flow with the boat, blah, blah, b _lah_. His brain is playing tricks again- it is still like being on the drugs in Arkham-

sometimes he remembers more and sometimes, he does not. Today is one of those days when the lights switch on and off. He sits there and stares out of the window- he wants to jump, and fly. Flying is better than splat- hu? He inches himself to the bathroom- seeing the cracked mirror gives him a surge of excitement. Seeing his own reflection in the pieces and the blood- It looks like the game is back on again. And this time, Joker swears that he would never listen to the Bay again- never let his past obsession with the other man send him back to Arkham again. Self-proclaimed heroes are never to be trusted. He trusted the Batman, heh.

Joker taps at the windows, the lights in the opposite apartment buildings flicking on and off. Well, it was almost like trust, you see. Well, at some point he would do anything for the bat. Not ‘just about anything,’but everything. He promised to stop spreading disorder, didn’t he? Even when Joker knew that he would lose his truth if he stopped spreading chaos he still promised to- for Batman.

Before the Bat came along he never cared for anything or anyone other than himself and sweet, sweet chaos and all he wanted to do was to fight and antagonize the Batman. He let the Bat in too deep. As much as the Joker got to Batman, the Batman got to him. His claws are hooked and they sink into his skin. The Joker lived for chaos- his fingers traces the spots of lamplight and starlight. He was the child of _chaos_ , doing things simply because he could until he started vying for _Batman’s attention,_ of all things.

It seems that chaos is inherently attracted to order- even if chaos can never become order. An obsession, is what Batman is. Some twisted love. He trusted his obsession and now his true nature is locked into the deepest pits of his psyche that even insanity cannot reach. Chaos fell for order- even when chaos is warned- and Joker? He paid the price. The price of falling. Damn the bat. Heroes are never to be trusted. Bruce groans, lying atop his bead, unable to speak. His mind cleared, and the implications of his actions, his thoughts, horrifies him. His fingers flick to the remote as he turns on the T.V screen.

Already, the sun rises up above Gotham City, once again buzzing with life and crime, in the aftermath of the storm.Anything that distracts himself from his selfishness. Anything that distracts himself from the fact that he lets a broken serial killer sit in his living room and that he thinks said criminal owes him...something for- something. Trying to do what his right- trying to bring down Arkham- it sickens him that the rage he has shown at being ignored by the Joker could be his true motives. Bruce refuses to believe so. The television drones on in the backgroud. Another murder. Mob battles.

Gotham needs Batman to come along and save them. Right now, all Bruce wants to do is to sit down and simply forget about the past months and all of their troubles. But he does not. Instead, he finds Alfred sitting in the library, a pensive look on his face. The butler stands. “I’d say you should sleep now, master Wayne- unless there are other nightly activities to attend to.” Pensive. Right.

“ _Alfred_!” Bruce turns bright red. Even as...desensitized to such issues he is, it still feels inappropriate, when it’s Alfred who is making _those_ jokes. “And I was talking about patrol, master Wayne, or do you still have the mind of a teenage boy?” Bruce turns even redder. "Your current case seems to be _quite distressed_." When speaking to Bruce, Alfred refers to the Joker as his ‘current case.’ It is easier for Alfred to dehumanize someone living at such close quarters than for him to look at the man who killed the woman he loved as a daughter than to hold that anger and disgust until it boils over. Bruce can understand that. Bruce nod.

“May I ask why?” Alfred dusts the books and sticks them in, shelf by shelf. He takes great care of the Wayne library. It reminded him of the old home he grew up in. The scent of ancient pinewood and pages of books and volumes. “I-” Bruce could not speak- what should he tell Alfred? There is the truth. Everything. Bruce Wayne could spill every secret he has hidden in his belly. Everything. He will tell no lies and give the truth and only the full truth.

Watch the horror, the surprise spreading across the face of his elderly mentor. The only figure of authority in his life. Or Bruce can hide it. Hide everything and let the truth rot on his tongue. He bites his teeth and clenches the fabric of his shirt through the pocket of his jacket, thrown on hastily for another broad meeting. Tell them the lies and only I will know my truth. After the fiasco at Arkham is over everything can be pushed back into a cage in the back of his mind with the proverbial key thrown away. He will never look at Alfred or the Joker in the eye. If Bruce tries hard enough, he could even lie so much that he can forget, just for a little while. 


	24. The guilty party

Bruce will never forgive himself for going against what he has stood for, for so long until the Joker came along and poisoned him with a laugh. He will never forgive himself for taking advantage of someone who could not fight back. Bruce will always hate the Joker for what he has done. There is no need to add to that point. The turmoil between them brews into a storm of trouble. Mixing the wreckages that is their hate, lust, need, Bruce’s disgust and the Joker’s insanity and a twisted, evil love. Bruce will be forever in turmoil over this. Everything. So he decides to hide his lies their lies and He shakes his head.

“No- I think it might, t _hough_ -” Alfred nods. He could see that Bruce is hiding something. He could read him better than most, after all. But as worried about his charge as he is, what is going on in his mind is not something Alfred can push Bruce for. As soon as Bruce Wayne, physically tired and emotionally drained, steps into the cab and speeds off, the group of people began making their way into the penthouse. They were all wanted criminals, wanting to make a hit. Bruce Wayne means big money in Gotham City.

Every body knew that. “I do not know what you want, but you will _step off_ this property _immediately_ -” He put up a good fight, for one man against several half his age. But, in the end the battle is lost and two lackeys carried the butler out of the penthouse, loading him onto a wheelchair. It was a perfect mission- get the old man, simple, easy. That is, until they find the other man, standing on the doorway with a blank look on his face. “You deal with him.” The man with the gun pointing to the unconscious man tells a rookie behind him, only turning around when hearing a snap and yelling. Two bodies bathes in blood and the Joker

(they did not know he was the Joker) stood, knife in hand and wiping blood off his face, smearing what looks like a red grin. “Really, why would you all want the old guy?” He asks, lips stratching around the paint to form a true smile. The Joker has not felt this- alive- since forever. The knife in his hand is connected to his skin and he is breathing. The leader signals an attack. Many of the men suffered multiple stab wounds, until one remembers the chloroform handkerchief in his pocket and muffled it over the madman’s nose and mouth from behind. He fell to the ground, leaving the attackers panting and breathless.

“ _Fuck_!”

The leader yells, signaling someone to call for backup, picks up the knife and prepares to end the Joker, only to be stopped by one of the other minions, stating that the boss explicitly stated to not kill anyone. “Fine! I will just teach him a lesson, then!” Frustrated, the leader went and carved the knife along the man’s bloodied face, leaving scars reminiscent of a smile. When they left the Joker woke to the pain on his face, realizing after a moment that his scars are back, due to some _cosmic irony_.

There are blood strewn on the floor, tables and chairs overturned and the distinct lack of manservant. Stepping up was harder than usual, the deep cuts on his face and abdomen bleeding out. Welp, looks like the only option is to call the goddamn Batman. Hearing his phone ring, Bruce excuses himself from the broad room, only for his heart to dance in his stomach after hearing the Joker’s voice. Somehow, the other man calling on his own accord equates to...something to Bruce. “Get... _back_.”

Joker makes out, clutching his side. The knife must have grazed an organ, or worse. “What is going on?!” Bruce asks, already rushing out of the building and waving over a cab, stuffing the bewildered man with a hundred dollar bill telling him to head to the penthouse. “ _I am bleeding out on your living room floor_.” He manages to lean against the wall- not gonna die yet, not when he is just starting to live again- “Don’t. Hang. Up.” Bruce grits his teeth and tells the driver to hurry up. “What happened?”

He turns to the phone, heart pounding in his chest- something must have happened- “The men in black came and took your butler-” “WHAT!” Bruce yells into the phone, eyes wide and bloodshot- he must have looked terrifying, as the cab driver slams the accelerator and speeds down the street. “I may have killed some of them- think they stabbed me-” Bruce sits, breathing hard and trying to calm down- the Joker killed- again- but somehow this is the least of his concerns- “What? Gonna yell at me for killing again?!”

Joker pants into the phone, blood slicking his grip. “It was self defense, right?” Bruce asks, begging for a yes- please let the answer be a yes- “Nope.” Bruce loses all hope the Joker has killed again there is no more hope for this to work out- “What-” He yells- the driver giving a small yelp “I was trying- to save your _manservant’s wrinkly old ass_ \- from being kidnapped”

All the bat can think about now is _this_ \- might as well bleed all over his precious furniture and carpet- “ _Oh_..” Bruce leans back, the blood rushing back to his head as he calms. “Yeah- don’t thank me, I wasn’t trying to be some savior or _hero_ or something- just happened to have a knife- ugf-” Well, he did walk in on the men in black and attacked them with a knife- the fight was to key, not the butler-saving- the old guy seemed to have injured half of them before they went down- “Don’t hang up-” Bruce yells into the mobile, police sirens buzzing in the background- The cab came to a stop.


	25. race you home

“ _Why_ are you stopping?!” Bruce screams at the driver, his voice hoarse from fear and anger. “Excuse me Mr Wayne-” A police officer, a young, uncomfortable looking rookie stood outside the cab that has pulled over- Nervous, the officer stumbles to grab the ticket book from his pocket. “I need to get back to my place. _IMMEDIATELY_.” Bruce all but shouted at the rookie. “Look-”

He pulls out his wallet, throws out a handful of bills at the cop and pushes out of the car. He runs. “You can’t just throw money at me!” The officer shouts, but one of the older cops stops him- “Just be happy he actually pays the fines- these, these socialites, they think they can do whatever they want.” He sighs, and turns away, beckoning the rookie to get back. Bruce ran until he could beckon over another cab driver that is willing to speed for the right amount of money. “Are you still on?” He calls, desperate for an answer.

“Still not dead yet-” Joker calls back. He is starting to become slightly delirious now. Well, he could die right now at any second. Any second and he is on the phone with Batman- but even now, just hearing the bat’s ‘day voice’ sooths him, makes the pain slightly less. If, like Batman said that one time that he is a drug to him, then Batman is the Joker’s painkiller. Batman seems, under all circumstances and in all ways addictive and soothing. Just his presence makes him delirious. Even now, the Bat still draws him- after everything, too! The bat still draws him like fire and Joker is the moth- always circling, plunging himself into the flames, selling his body and his soul to the bat-like devil.

Well, looks like the only chance he has of escaping the bat is to...is to.... “Hang on-” Bruce calls. He hears no reply- “Jo-” a quick glance to the cab driver has him shut his mouth before giving anything away- “You still there?” He asks- no reply, and Bruce’s heart sinks,to his stomach, to the bottom of his feet. He looks up, shutting off the phone. “Hurry.” He growls to the driver, who nods uncomfortably. He did not realize the tears sliding down his face.

Bruce refuses- refuses to believe that everything- everything ends just like that. No explosions or- anything. Just like that. He sat there, too stunned to do anything- to even panic. Bruce stares blankly until the driver pats him on the shoulder and tells him that they have arrived at the penthouse. All the way up to his suite, Bruce ignores the rush of people staring, and whispering at him, about him. Everything is a blur of colour and static. The first thing Bruce did was check the unconscious- unconscious, not dead- man’s pulse. It was weak, but there. And he sees everything again.

Quickly, Bruce fumbles with his phone while checking the Joker’s injuries- His cheeks were slashed up again in that Glasgow grin- not as deep as his previous ones, but still creates a jarring image- somehow, Bruce has the feeling that the attackers has unwittingly gave the Joker back a piece of himself. There are deep stab wounds in his abdomen, and definite organ injury. The knife may have nicked a vein(or an artery) “Dammit-” Bruce whispers to himself. He has been patched up before- by Alfred- Oh god _they took Alfred_ -

but by himself Bruce only knows the bare basics of first aid. Stitching up the wounds, Bruce knows that he has to call a doctor- a medical doctor- and the only person remotely resembling a doctor that knows him or the Joker is Doctor Harleen Quinzel- and there is no way he could revel his identity to the psychiatrist- he finds it hard to trust any Arkham personnel- This leaves no options except for Bruce to do it himself- “What do I do-” He mutters. Bruce has not panicked this much since- since- strange, how seeing his worst enemy(his obsession, his love) so battered and broken up has him panic. He presses the newly stitched up wounds, feeling for the faint pulse- the bleeding has stopped. He turns to the phone and closes google, feeling extremely stupid for searching up ‘how to stop a bleeding wounds’ and a variety of other things.

Then he turned to the bodies of the men. Two of them and his heart sinks to his stomach. Looking back at the Joker, he seems stablisied. “I should send him back to Arkham. This is _murder._ ” He tells himself. He drags the bodies and hides them in a closet. The Joker tried to help Alfred. But this is murder, Bruce tells himself. When this is all over he'll deal with the Joker, he thinks. Calming down a little, Bruce dials for help- Ten minutes later, he finds himself watching the ambulance go, along with commissioner Gordon.

“Its fine, son, I’ll keep this under wraps.”Gordon nods at the young billionaire- strange, that he has offered sanctuary to one of the worst criminals Gotham has ever seen- but he has always been interested in the Asylum and it’s developments- the boy he has comforted so many years ago may not just be a playboy with no ethics, after all. “They...they don’t know who he is, right?”

Gordon looks over his shoulder- the sheer concern on Bruce Wayne’s face disturbs him- how could one feel such great concern for the man who ruined everything? But he looks into Wayne’s eyes and sees concern. Gordon was too afraid, too disturbed to acknowledge the love he sees Wayne have for the clown. “No- they know that he is some kid that got attacked by a gang.” He replies, perhaps more gruffly than should be, and takes out a cigarette, lighting it up. The relief that seemed to emit from Bruce Wayne is also disconcerting. To have the man who owns half of Gotham be attached to the criminal mastermind the Joker is is disconcerting. He nods, one last time at Bruce and walks out.


	26. Take a deep breath

The first thing Joker notices is that he is in a hospital room, with Bruce Wayne’s mug staring down at him. The first thing he feels is the throbbing in his cheeks and it felt like he is back. “You- awake now?” As soon as those words left his mouth Bruce felt incredibly stupid. The Joker took a surprisingly short time to wake, according to the doctors. It was still one whole night. “Yeah...?”Joker replies- he felt _powerful_ , even when lying atop a hospital bed- better than the bat- he can do whatever he wants to. So he smiles. One whole night where Bruce did not sleep. An entire night spent alternating between reading everything he could on the insignia he found on those men’s wrists(from the security cameras). Nothing.

\-----------------------

“I- they took Alfred-” Bruce took a deep breath. They took Alfred- he tells the Joker. “I should know that-” The clown prince replies- the men in black came in and snatched the butler, so a little clown came running to the rescue- a perfect story. Not. But he did get what he wanted- the blood, it was...satisfying. Perhaps the truth is, no matter how hard they try- someone like the Joker just cannot be tamed. “Right.” Bruce nods- the events of the past few days were a whirlwind of information.

“I need your help.”The Joker raised an eyebrow. This is certainly not common occurance. “I- found something that could be related to his kidnapping- “And?” Joker asks- well, it’s not like he has anything to do lately- it seems like the bat want him on an adventure. At times like this he has _almost_ forgiven the Bat- that is how great the Joker’s euphoria(from the killing and the scars) is. He is not like those- pssh- _normal_ people. So, for now, he forgives the bat. No, not for Arkham- that is non negotiable.

Or for other things. Really, it’s more like- tolerance now. He could get used to it. It could be that It’s either he has forgiven that guy for everything, or that he, the clown prince of crime, has fallen off the deep end for the Batman. Heh. Either way, there is no difference, is there? No difference at all- So he grins at the Batman, noticing a little flicker of surprise on the other man’s face. Bruce was almost sick to his stomach and deliriously happy at the smile adorning the Joker’s face- and he looked like the Joker, too. So Bruce took a step forward. And a deep breath, throwing the entire investigation of Arkham asylum underwater.

“I need you to help me investigated these people” Joker grins again and Bruce almost throws up with the butterflies in his stomach. “I’m in.” Was all he said. Joker has forgotten all he has said about not trusting ‘heroes.’ They were good at forgetting. And Bruce began to fill the other man in. “There are security cameras in my room. From what I’ve seen these men are well trained. Assassins, even. Most of them seem to have a tattoo, or an insignia on their wrists." And he has seen them before. the signs.

Bruce finishes, just as a nurse came in, stating that they need to do tests. He nods, phone buzzing by his leg as he excuses himself from the room. “What do you want?” He hisses at the woman in the phone. “Oh, nothing,” Ivy rolls her eyes. Vigilantes- always so dramatic!

“Just telling you that the cameras are ready and rolling-” “I want out.” Bruce said, perhaps a little too quickly. “I want out of this plan.” “Whatever you want.” The pretty red head strokes the fern besides her, the room a living jungle. “You can have the equipment, too.” Ivy adds. Bruce nods. They would be a good addition to his tech- and he could track down the makers as well. Perhaps this whole ordeal is not so useless. “But I will give you Candy’s number- she is the real mastermind. Me and Harls?

We are just hanging.” She taps at the screen, ending the conversation. Not really. It was mostly Harley’s idea. She was the one who wanted to end the corruption and help the patients- such a hopeful little girl- But it worked out, in the end. She could get out of Arkham easier when the barbarians guarding the doors can be seduced with a simple kiss.

\---------------------

“Look, I want _out_ on this.” Bruce lowers his voice, furious at the woman. “Okay. Fine.” Candy groans, and ends the conversation. If Bruce Wayne does not want to do anything, then FINE. She would just have to do it herself. Kill or threaten or terrify Arkham. She was not really sure why she decided to go with the idea of Bruce Wayne helping. It was Harleen Quinzel’s idea, really. The poor, innocent, good ol’doctor. All she wanted to do was help, understand and cure those poor, poor people.(no, really.) And then the Joker came along, and she became obsessed. Even a little bit crazy, from what Candy has seen of her childhood friend.

She was a bit worried for her. If he has stayed for longer, the clown would have worn her sanity down until it snapped. But then he left, and all was well, for a little while. Then Ivy came. Poison Ivy, Pamela Isley, whatever you call her, was definitely one of the crazies.

She raved about her plants and her devotions and her killings, and Harley listened. And they battered against her already thin sanity. Harley had told her, many a times over coffee of how sweet ‘ _Pammy_ ’ or ‘ _red_ ’ that, caring for Harley like her plants. The psychiatrist sighed and daydreamed, recalling the times when the other woman touched her face and kissed her and told her that the only human she cared for on this earth is Harley. But, coming back to the main topic, it was all Harley’s idea. And Candy went along with it. But now it looks like she has to, uh, take matters into her own hands- well, everything will turn out just fine. Well, that is what the bossman said. But it looks like Batman is out for good. Time for plan B.

\---------------------------

“Harley, now, don’t look so sad.” The red-headed woman turns to the sad looking blond dangling her legs off the edges of the green cushions on the bed. “I can’t believe it!” Harley Quinn threw her hands up in the air. “Bruce Wayne just decides to- what- drop out like- that?! Who does he think he is?!” Ivy just smiles and places a hand on her shoulder. “The plants feel a great _disturbance_ in Gotham.” She whispers in her ear, smiling fondly at the memory of the first time she heard the whispers of nature- “I believe that when the time comes, we will have Gotham City...and everything you want would be yours...”She lowers her voice.. “My dear....”


	27. disguises

The Joker was not very happy when Bruce Wayne rolled him out of the hospital, all bandaged up in a wheelchair. He could walk by himself. He is a strong, independent homicidal maniac and he needs no man. “Really, bats. I can walk.” He grumbles. Bruce ignores him. It seems as if the Joker is talking to him almost...normally. He felt dizzy, and high on adrenaline. The entire situation is surreal and yet, for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt hope. Hope that maybe, things can get better. “Why do you...want to help me?”

He asks the once again scarred man. “You really wanna know?” Joker replies and Bruce nods, heartbeat speeding up- anticipating and dreading the reply. “Cause I am bored and the only other time I got out of your damned house was at a zoo with the old geezer and I need something to do.” He rolls his eyes and stares off into space. The answer could be worse, Bruce thought, and smiles, just a little. At least Joker has decided to help- help was good. “So- he did take you out of the house?” He never thought that Alfred would agree to his request. “Mmmhmm...” The madman taps at the car window. Tap tap tap.

\------------------------

Back at the penthouse, they sat on the couch, as Bruce awkwardly served sandwiches to the two of them. “You know how I want you to help?” Bruce asks, finally sick of the silence. “Yeah?” Joker asks, chewing slowly at the bread. Bruce did notice how the man has lost a large amount of weight, making him gaunt and sick-looking. The protruding collarbones and the stick-like arms and obvious wrist bones gives Bruce a stab of guilt- to him, it was his fault that he became like this. “Do you have any idea how to do this?” Bruce asks, anxious. He needs him to get as much information as possible.

“How to do what?” The Joker looks back at the bat- not that he is a bat now. Bruce Wayne is different from Batman. In his mind, they are separated. Batman is a ‘hero.’ He cannot be around Batman. Bruce Wayne feels safer. Than Batman, at least. He can talk to Bruce Wayne. Wayne is safe to be around. “To get into Gotham University Library. I’m sure there is something about them there.” Bruce is still unsure of what they should do. Of what he should do. The Joker licks at his scars- a familiar gesture. “Disguise, duh.” He answers. Bruce finished off his food. “But how?” He turns and asks. Joker sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Do you have my kit?” He questions the other man, letting his hair down in the process. “Well,”He turns to face Bruce. “First, I do this and” They move to where the kit is stored, Bruce not noticing how the Joker tenses up at the sight of the Batsuit. He takes out the kit and slathers on a base layer of makeup. Bruce becomes mesmerized, with the way the colour and clear mixture covers the scars.

The other man has his hair tied again, not letting the golden strands stain. The latex went over the scars as a perfect fit. It disturbed him, Bruce has to say. It disturbed him that the Joker has no more scars once again. To the Joker, he just did not like the way the makeup itched- but, whatever- he does like to put on a show. And what a show it is. After the scars are covered and made to look like his skin tone more details were added. Dimples and freckles mirroring the ones scattered across his nose made the disguise all the more realistic. Well, here it is, a simple, but effective disguise. The Joker has always hated disguises, really- he rarely uses them, it takes too much of _him_ away from the equation- it’s simply not fun.

At all. Which is probably why he has no qualms with showing Brucie how he does it. “Do you have a spare shirt?” He asks as Bruce gapes at how...unsuspecting the Joker is. After the initial shock, Bruce knows that what he just did was an astounding disguise- and the fact that the other man is willing to show him must amount to something. (He hopes.)

Even Batman would not be able to recognize his ex-archenemy easily in that getup- well, he could eventually, that is what Batman does. But it means that the Joker trusts him- and no matter how wrong or sick the idea was, it gave him butterflies and Bruce, for one moment, felt lightheaded, until he pulls himself back to the ground and shook his head, both to clear his mind and to say that no, he does not have clothes his size in the penthouse. The Joker sighs. “Well, not everything can be perrrfect.”

His voice came out as a breathy sigh, and almost gave Bruce a heart attack. The way he can imitate voices- he sounds different. Younger. A disguise like this- as a detective, Batman is surprised that the Joker is willing to bare his back towards him. “But a anything can do.” Bruce nods.

“We go now. If you don’t want to go-” He pauses. “Don’t sweat it, Bats.” Joker replies. How strange it is, that now, he can talk to the Batman like absolutely nothing has happened. But, he can get out now- and being out means killing again- heh- bad choice of words, batsy, indeed. So, for now, he’ll ignore the Bat. For now, ehehe. He grins to himself. For the first time in a long time, everything is lighter. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and the skies are bright and colourful again- that sorta bull.

“Why are we doing this again?” Harley sighs happily, a drowsy shoulder on Ivy’s shoulder. Boys are too much trouble, she decided. Girls, girls are much better. Especially this particular woman. “Doing what?” Pamela smiles back, stroking the girl’s hair. “Working for that guy-we should be doing our own thang!” Her lips curled around her words with a twang. “You’ll understand, little flower. You’ll understand soon.”

When the world is ours and you and I can dance together under the light of the moon.

 


	28. revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty oc heavy. But the revelation is worth it XD

Leaping through the night has never felt so good, Candy muses. This time she is on a real mission! Imagine that! She likes this. She likes this a lot. Almost as much as the new girl likes the knives. To be fair, they were good knives. Getting into Arkham Asylum was a pretty easy feat. The security here is atrocious for what is supposed to be the best crazy house in the state. But with people like Joker and Poison Ivy residing here, you can see why not many people is willing to work here.

Eh, either way, she is here. Since ruining Dr Arkham’s life seems pretty much, well, useless now. Poor little Doctor. Maybe they will make Harls the new director. She certainly deserves it. Poor girl, with what happened with the clown and the plant. “Now, doctor....” She brushes her hand against the gun. “Doctor, doctor...” Hell, it’s a pretty boring mission, the doctor not coming back from a meeting until about...Candy checks her watch- a few hours later. Damn. Looks like she is early. She opens some of the draws, mindlessly flipping through them. Most of them are just files upon files- boring.

There is a usb stick, though. Who brings a usb stick to work? She plugs it in to the laptop she brought along. At first, it seems quite useless, considering the atrocious wifi Arkham has. Now, she grins, shark-like, let’s see what the good doctor has hidden here- fap fodder, perhaps? She grins. Oh yeah, look what we’ve got here. The video starts off in a cell. A man, a prisoner, sits huddled in the corner of the dark room. Candy leans forwards, getting comfortable. Looks like he is into some darn kinky and illegal stuff, huh? The man in the video looks up. She could make out the scars around his mouth- wait- Candy frowns. Not good. Why is there a video of the Joker here? She thought there were no videos?! The footage plays on the laptop. A few orderlies walks in. Taunting, but staying far away from him. Then, one of them gets a bit too close and he bites him. She finds herself rooting for the clown, in this case. They handcuff him, a chain connected to the floor. A leather collar was placed around his neck, the chain also connected to the floor. His legs were bound pretty much the same way. “Whoa...” Her eyes widens. Candy decides to focus on the video.

\------------------------

“Get away from me.” The Joker growls, glaring at the men. The camera focusing much more closely on him than any other security camera. Must be custom made, she thinks. “Now, now, be a good little clown and COME OVER HERE!” A particularly large guard roars, yanking at the collar. “Ugh-”The Joker glares at him again. The large orderly must have been the leader. He made a gesture, and the other men came forwards. Taking a knife, one of them cuts his clothing and another strips him, while a few more watched. There were five men in total. They took off his clothes. “Holy hell.” Candy mutters, staring at the screen. The Joker bites some guy’s hand and laughs, and that had to hurt, cause he screamed. He screamed like a little bitch.

And the Joker continues to laugh with blood in his mouth. “Dammit!” The leader roars and slaps the Joker, who only laughs harder, sniping and kicking at them. “Stop. Laughing.” He growls, gesturing at another guard. He steps forwards, shoving a piece of cloth into the captured man’s mouth, getting a few headbutts and kicks to the shins along the way. Still, the laughing was muffled by the gag. The video turns to static there. “Whoa...” She leans back. “Damn.” Candy checks her watch again. Only about half an hour has passed.

She hates to wait for the targets to show up by themselves. Too bad the ones on top only want him to be offed without any witnesses. Or evidence. Hence the plastic suit, plastic gloves, well, plastic everything, really. The static disappears and the video reappears. This time, the men are all gone, leaving boxes and crates in the cell and the Joker appears to be in the room with- “Holy shit-” Candy gulps.

The Batman. What the hell is Batman here for?! Does that mean he knows? What. The- That is the Batman. No, that is not the Batman. The suit seems stiffer, more amateur than Candy has seen. On video, the man in the suit is slightly shorter and bulkier than the actual Batman. He stalks up to the Joker, pulls his head up by his hair and sprays something into his face. Then, without a word, he took a jug of water from one of the crates and tips it onto the other man’s face. “How’d ya like that?!” ‘Batman’ yells, tipping another jar and watching the Joker shiver. The water must have been freezing. In the video, you could see his skin turn slightly red. There were sores all over the Joker’s body. His pupils are dilated, glazed over with a drugged fear. He breathes, quick gasps and then ‘Batman’s’ hand is clasped over his mouth, pushing his body down and forcing his jaw open.

\- --------------------------------

“Okay. Just. No.” Candy shuts the window and stands up. The video has been running for two hours. Two hours of goddamn beatings and torture and mind-fuck and drugging. And, judging by the size of the usb files, more than just two hours. Oh, hell. That was just sick, even by her standards. She takes the device out and slips it into her pocket. The door creaks open. She turns, and grins at the shocked man at the door. “Action time, ya sicko.” “W- who are you?” Dr Arkham was not expecting to be met with an assassin. The girl leaps over, slams him into the desk, the splinters piercing his back.

“I- I won’t say anything! Please! I swear!” The doctor sweats, even when his entire body becomes cold with fear. He knew it. He knew he was going to die ever since the day he saw them. The day he saw it. “Oh, you won’t be saying anything, all right. Mr Al Ghul will make sure of it.” The silver blades pierce deep, and blood runs crimson as the man's eyes widen in fear. Mission, accomplished.


	29. timeskip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Timeskip.

Five years later. Gotham City. The Joker trudged along the narrows, sticking against the walls. Purple suit in tatters, his mouth pulls into a nervous grin. Not saying that he did not like this, but it is becoming increasingly annoying. Sticking to the shadows like a certain bat. The Batman. Bruce Wayne. He stifles a laugh. How long has it been since he last saw him? Their last kiss still lingers on his scarred lips.

Five years. It’s been five years and no one could have thought that Gotham would change so fast. The war, the bombs and guns and the skies that rained for days and days. The way the Gothamites screamed 'who will save us?' and the skies answered with fire. The no man’s land. He bends over with silent laughter. Who would have thought that this would have happened? But it did and the biggest irony of all is that Batman has abandoned Gotham. Abandoned him. The Joker smooths his suit and grabs hold of his gun. It’s always useful to have guns. But knives are better. Knives don’t run out of ammunition.

Knives never fail. He looks down to the ones in his boots. Better to wear boots than polished leather, and casual clothing instead of his mob-payed suits. Can’t get rid of the suit, though. The suit is iconic. He breaths, and moves down the alleyway. “You’re on time for once.” The woman steps out of the shadow.

“Pam!” He greets with open arms, gun dangling from a finger. “ _Shh_.” Ivy glares at him and moves closer. “Do you want to get us killed?!” “Sorry, sorry,” He jokes, looking around. “Where’s HQ?” “On lookout. Follow me.” They walked away from the narrows and down the main street. Joker looks over to his side at the looming ruins of Wayne Enterprises. He looks away, avoiding the cracks in the ground. He likes anarchy, but this? This is just dark, grey, depression. He pulls his coat closer around him. Looking up at the sky, he’d almost be relieved if the bat symbol appears. The Joker traces his lips with a fingertip. “The botanical garden? How typical, Pammy.” “Shut it.” Ivy frowns. Having new ground is always good. Everyone in Gotham now knew that the gardens belong to Poison Ivy. Her thoughts are more troubled by the knowledge that the Demon’s head will not let her or Harley live. What they know is could bring that damn organization down, topple it, even. And it’s bad. What they did to Gotham. How they broke the city physically, and the Gothamites mentally.

It’s hell. The warehouse hideout the Joker walked into is no better off than the many other buildings around here. A leaking ceiling judging by the water puddle on the concrete floor and cracks in the walls. “Nice place you got here.” He comments idly and the plant girl(poison ivy, he reminds himself) snorts. The Harlequin giggles and bounces over. _“Ivy!”_ She throws herself over the other woman and kisses her. “Mr J!” She leans over and pecks him on the cheek. Ivy’s eye twitches and he laughs.

“What a _dump_ this city is.” Harley sighs, skipping away from the two of them. She was smart, oh yes, and if he had not been taken away from Arkham by the Bat she would continue on to be his therapist, and who knows what would happen then? But nowadays this girl is vacant as well as smart, with clouds over her eyes. Not that psychoanalysis is his forte. The Joker looks out of the window and sees a shadow of a bat. He must be missing him to much. The Batman. And he does. Miss him.

* * *

 

(The same day, in England.) “Nng.” Bruce opens his eyes and the first thing he felt was pain. “What happened, Alfred?”

He turns to ask the elderly Butler. “We managed to escape, master Bruce. No mean feat.” Bruce sat up. “How long has it been, Alfred? Since we started running?” “Too long.” Alfred sighs and turns on the television in the small room. “And now we commemorate the fifth year anniversary of the cataclysm that shook Gotham City and the world to the core. After the great earthquake that killed thousands, even more, and causing billions of dollars in damages, the American Government decides to announce Gotham as a ‘ **No man’s Land**.’ Naturally this decision was met by much outrage and resistance, but it still happened...”

Bruce takes the remote and switches the screen off. “No...” His eyes widens. His city. His Gotham. In ruins. “What happened?” He moves to get up. There is no time. No time to wait or heal, so far away from Gotham. He’s been running like a coward for five years, hiding in jungles and caves and far away countries, relying more on his skills to survive and run than his ability to fight. It is only now that he has realised how large the chokehold Ra’s Al Ghul has on the world is.

How deeply the Demon’s head’s influences ran. How powerful and ancient and dangerous the man is. Gotham is his city and, by running, he has betrayed it. And what of the people in Gotham? Bruce pushes himself up despite the protests from Alfred. He needs to get back to his city. What happened to Fox? Or the other employees at Wayne Enterprises or the Joker- He doesn’t want to think about him. Not now, Bruce tells himself. Not yet. The last time they met each other everything was hanging in the balance. A thin thread of uneasy hope and dark secrets that the videos he receieved from the assassin cuts through him and makes the bule rise up in his throat. “I need to go to Gotham.” He tells Alfred and they argue.

Oh, did they argue. They yelled at each other for hours in the bunker before coming to an agreement. Three days later, Bruce leaves for Metropolis in disguise. From there he should be able to get into Gotham and pull the city and rise it up from hellfire. Gotham, the no man’s land.


	30. Finale

There was a war here in Gotham. There is always war in Gotham, except now the war is fought in broad daylight, on the streets instead of seedy corners of the narrows. The Joker laughs as he thinks about what Batman would say if he sees Gotham as it is now. If he sees the people, the normal, regular people he thought so highly of tear each other apart for the bare nessescities of life. This is a war, and the Joker brought his knives and they tastes blood and any shred of remorse Arkham and Bruce may have drilled into him flies away. If only Batman could see him now, his knives and hands cleansed by innocent blood. Ha. No blood is innocent. He knows that all too well.

It was what drove them apart, he thinks. Because no matter how much Batman tries to, heh, _love_ him, there is always this wall, this wedge between them.

He laughs when he thinks back of what they did to him in the Asylum, but what else could he do but laugh? Oh yes, he remembers now. He remembers when he dreams and he remembers when he awakes. The sheer irony of what they did makes him chuckle. Imagine if Batman knew. A bullet grazes his side. Harley Quinn shoots the assailant in the head and Poison Ivy holds them in chokeholds, her drugs(pheromones?) taking over their minds.

It’s amazing how this woman who holds no love for men can take them into her chokeholds with such ease. If he believed in friends he would say that they are friends. A team, perhaps. Brought together by the events of the cataclysm, for survival’s sake. They could be friends, he thought, looking to the two of them. But he is not one for such...sentiments. The Joker hums quietly under his breath as he wiped blood of his blades with his new coat. It would become ragged with bullet holes and singed with fire anyways. Killing came easy to him, as if the time in between, the time he spent with Bruce- Batman- has not happened. He pushes the thoughts of the bat to the back of his mind. “He’s probably dead.” He mutters to himself. “What didja just say?”

The blond girl asks, removing her hands from her red headed lover for just a moment. “Nothing.” The clown replies. “Get a room, you two-” He calls out. “You’re just jealous.” Harley replies and he thinks that maybe he is. If only he succeded in showing the Batman just what he meant. Humanity’s true face, and all. They could have been beautiful. But Bats just has to go and throw all that away, so he will forget all about him. The Joker huffs and throws a knife across the room. “Head to the sewers.” Ivy tells him dryly. “If you can’t find anything else to do, then go and look for a way out.” “How would I know they won’t just blow me to pieces when I get there?”

\------------------

He asks. “That it. You don’t.” He huffs, rolls his eyes, and leaves, doging the roaming gang members, and into the twisting and turning system. Getting into Gotham under disguise was not easy. The broken bridges (he will rebuild them) crumbles in the wake of destruction. The cataclysm, but it was no earthquake.

Not a normal earthquake. It was Ra’s Al Ghul’s first attack. And if the demon’s head has such power, such technology to destroy Gotham so utterly and entirely, who knows what he could do to the rest of the world? Who knows when he will stand up and hold entire cities hostage? Or would he just destroy them all, leaving a new world order where he rules over all? With such a heavy heart Bruce sneaks under the radar and into the stinking sewers.

Boots clicking against the tiles, he headed with determination. No matter what would happen, he will not abandon his city, not again, not ever. It is then when he sees the figure, standing by the other side of the tunnel. The Joker stops cold when he sees the other figure by the other side of the tunnel. He is showered by darkness, but he could see the dim light surrounding the dark figure. It was Bruce who broke the silence, shattering the silence that stands between them. Five years that felt like five lifetimes.

Bruce stands there, not moving, as blue eyes meets green. A silent exchange. The Joker wonders if Batman could see blood dripping from his hands, and decides that he did not care, because the other man would just have to take him as he is, as he has always been, a force of chaos against the force of order, ragged, broken edges verses neatly packaged trauma. 

The universe itself stands between them. The gap, the slice of tunnel, the moss on the walls and the rush of water beneath their feet. And they talk, but no words were exchanged. And Bruce looks, and sees the blood dripping from the Joker's hands, and something in him clenches, but he waves that feeling away, and looks and sees and tells him, in his silent way, that he accepts him, with all the pain and blood and chaos and brokenness, and he knows his other accepts him, too. Him and his need of order, the pain inside him, the pain that is packaged into neat little boxes bursting at the seams.

At this moment in time, there is nothing they would care more than to close the gap. The world above becomes nothing more than an echo. A voice screams at the back of Bruce's mind, but he pushes it away and it becomes a frantic whisper that fades into a hum that fades into nothing. The backdrop to the story of them. It's easy, for the both of them to forget. Maybe one day he would look back and regret this. But now, Bruce comes in, and breaks the glass wall.

 

“It’s...been a long time.” He says. The Joker nods, and Bruce holds out his hand, plain and unclothed, no kevlar pads to hide him, and he notices that the other man's hand was without the gloves, too, as he takes his hand. There is no spark of electricity, no wave of realization that crashes down, when their fingertips touched. What there is is palm against palm, a silent, welcoming warmth, and the knowledge that they fit each other more than any mask, any glove could. And here is it that they realize they would throw away everything for each other. His crusade. His madness. And here they stand, eyes wide with the clarity, and they know that no matter what, there is no going back from this moment onwards.

And this is the end, but this is also the beginning. From the moment we started their story was riddled with choices and betrayal and small pockets of happiness. But here they stand, against all odds, and this makes you think. Will they manage to untangle the mass of red threads fate has woven between them? Who knows? But no matter what happens, and no matter what will happen, we know that they would always end up here, standing face to face, in the heart of darkness, and we think, what now? The answer, my friends, is everything. Everything that you think could happen, would happen, but no matter what happens, they would carry on, hand i hand, because after all this, they will not let go. Not anymore. Not ever.

 

END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of a long journey, my friends. Maybe someday I'll try and write another long fic like this one, but, for now this'll be it. Thank you.
> 
> When I started this fic I had no idea about where it would go, but this ending is pretty satisfying for me, and I hope it would be satisfying for you, too.


End file.
